


Falling Apart

by CR Noble (erudite12)



Category: Fallen - Lauren Kate, Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Flashbacks, M/M, Minor Character Death, PTSD, Rehab!AU, SPN Movie Big Bang 2019, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, alcoholishm, drug misuse, fallen movie, house fire, library fire, no books were harmed in the making of this fic, sam is deceased when fic starts, soulmate!AU, vivid dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-07 20:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19216663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erudite12/pseuds/CR%20Noble
Summary: Sword & Cross Resident Rehabilitation is a last-ditch effort for Dean Winchester to move past the drug and drinking problems he developed to bury his guilt over the fire that killed his brother. Not to mention the wild visions and smoky, sentient shadows that have plagued him his entire life. It's supposed to be the best Savannah has to offer, but one look at the crumbling tile floors and dangling crown mouldings, and Dean has his doubts.Enter Castiel Novak. He’s rude, aloof, and a total dick from the moment they lay eyes on each other but Dean can’t help but feel a mysterious connection to the man. Maybe he really has lost his mind. But when Castiel starts making appearances in Dean’s vivid visions of the past, he knows there is more to their link than meets the eye. Even if Cas keeps telling him otherwise.It seems everyone at Sword & Cross knows what’s going on except for Dean. Trying to conquer his mountain of guilt and doubt and figure out the connection he is certain he shares with Castiel is only made harder by the “accidents” that seem to follow him. Not to mention his attraction to Gadreel.Whatever secret Castiel is trying so hard to keep, Dean knows he has to uncover it.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> OMG guys, its finally here!! I am so excited to share this with you!! This is the longest fic I have ever written. And the art is absolutely perfect! Seriously I love it so frigging much!!!
> 
> I feel like its worth noting that this fic is loosely based on a movie, Fallen, which is based on the first book in a series, so DON'T BE SURPRISED IF THERE ARE SIMILARITIES. 
> 
> Okay, on to the important bits of this author's note:
> 
> First, [Kampfhomo](https://kampfhomo.tumblr.com/) did the amazing art for this, and I am so ridiculously pleased with it. Okay, I sat and just stared at the second piece for like twenty straight minutes when I received it haha. I love it so very much. You can check out the art masterpost [Here](https://kampfhomo.tumblr.com/post/185635641699/spn-movie-big-bang-art-masterpost-artists-note). Please go and make with the likes and the reblogs because its awesome :D
> 
> Second, my beta, who is possibly the best beta I've ever had the luck to come across, [Jak_the_ATAT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jak_the_ATAT/pseuds/Jak_the_ATAT). Seriously, you were amazing through the whole thing, even when I threw the last chapter at you 3 days before posting.
> 
> So, now I come to the person that is at least like, 45% responsible for the way this story goes haha and that is [PieDarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieDarling/pseuds/PieDarling). We spent probably hours going back and forth about the tiniest plot details for this story and honestly, without Pie, it wouldn't be nearly as good.
> 
> Last but definitely not least, a huge thank you to a long list of people for just being generally amazing, supportive humans that helped me get through writing this, encouraged me when I needed it, and let me cry about it on their shoulders:
> 
> The mods. You guys have been truly amazing and made the experience of participating in one of my first bangs ever so great! I couldn't imagine not doing this again :D
> 
> Mal, Kitty, Morgan, and Serenity, and everyone on the Writers of Destiel server on discord, you guys have always been there for me to angst about how poorly my writing is going and share when its successful. Most importantly, you guys encouraged the shit out of me when all I really wanted to do was give up. So thank you!
> 
> Mildly less important haha, but you can find me in the following places: [@cr-noble-writes](https://cr-noble-writes.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, [@WritesCR](https://twitter.com/WritesCr) on Twitter, and obviously CR Noble on AO3 :D
> 
> Enjoy reading! I can't wait to see what everyone has to say :D

Millennia ago, God’s brightest angel turned his back on his Father, starting a war in Heaven and forcing the angels to make a choice: fight at the side of their Father, or follow Lucifer and be banished to Hell with him.

In a flash of almighty fury, the angels that refused to choose a side in the war were cast out of Heaven, made to wander amongst the mortals of the Earth. Some of them became mortals; others retained their angelic essence. They were lost and forlorn, and many chose to follow the dark path of Lucifer, spreading mayhem and chaos through the mortal world. Others still followed the path of the light in the hopes that one day, they might be welcomed back to Heaven.

One angel forsook the paths of both Heaven and Hell for the love of a human.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean stared blankly out the window of Uncle Bobby’s car as Savannah’s urban forest zoomed by. It was beautiful, the tall trees mingling with the historic facade of the city but he was too numb, too sober to care. Uncomfortable silence hung between them but Dean still said nothing. Sword & Cross was the top drug and alcohol rehabilitation center in the state and though he didn’t want to go, there wasn’t much choice in the matter. Dean didn’t deny he had a problem; he just wasn’t sure this place could help him or if he was even worth being helped. There were times he was certain those he loved would be better off if he just didn’t come home from a bender. Hell, maybe if he’d just put an end to it sooner, Sammy would still be around. Dean’s jaw clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut to stave off the tears threatening to fall.

They approached the facility and Dean paid enough attention to take in the high stone wall between the road and the grounds. It led to a wrought iron gate, which opened when Bobby pushed a button on the speaker box and told a guard his name. The long, wide driveway cut through a neatly kept, bright green lawn. There were trees everywhere and Dean saw a hedged-in garden area with a large fountain near the end of the building. The building itself was huge, two stories high with white pillars across the front, giving it an aged and intimidating facade. Dean looked up at the tall, arched windows lining the wall and saw the shadow of someone standing inside, watching the car pull up to the front of the building. Stone steps led up to the open front doors and were clear of any fallen autumn leaves, as was most of the grass. Everything was clean, perfect, and beautiful.

Uncle Bobby parked the car but neither of them made a move to get out. Dean just continued staring out the window.

“It’s for the best, Dean.” His uncle’s voice was sad, and when Dean turned toward him, Bobby’s brows were drawn together as he contemplated his hands sitting on the steering wheel instead of looking at Dean.  “You can’t go on the way you’ve been. You’re killin’ yourself.”

“I know.” Dean sighed and opened the door to step out of the car, eyes cast down. He didn’t look up at the people walking around, going between the entrance and the lawn as he popped the trunk open to get his bags. Whether or not Dean agreed, his uncle clearly believed going to this place was better than being in the ground, so he would do his best to make it work.

Dean shouldered his bags and circled the car to give Bobby a hug, assuring his uncle that he would call him as soon as he could to check in. He took a deep breath, turned, and headed up the stairs. As he passed through the front door, Dean was almost surprised. Compared to the intimidating majesty of the outside, the foyer was totally run-down. The off-white paint on the walls was chipped and fading, revealing spots of some dulled blue wallpaper beneath. Most of the light blue floor tiles were cracked, the grout between them covered in a thick layer of filth. Dean wondered if anyone ever bothered to try and clean it. The floor and crown moldings were broken, even hanging in some spots.  As much as Bobby paid for him to be here, he couldn’t believe the level of disrepair he saw. A wave of hopelessness hit Dean hard, and he stared at his feet as he walked, only glancing up long enough to read “Admissions” across the door in front of him as he opened it.

“Welcome to Sword & Cross, how can we assist you on your road to recovery today?” The brunette at the desk asked in a bored tone, watching Dean through half-closed lids and with a plastered-on customer service smile. _Dorothy,_  her name tag read.

“Dean Winchester.” A small, tight-lipped smile crossed his face as he shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “I’m checking in.”

“Okay, gimme one sec.” Dorothy flipped through some papers on a clipboard that sat on her desk. Her finger ran down the list as she presumably searched for his name. “Alright, here you are. Let me just get Crowley for you, he’ll give you the rundown.” Before she left her desk, she grabbed one file from a stack and handed it to him.

Dean looked down at the file. His name was handwritten on the tab and he opened the folder to a copy of the rules and regulations, a room assignment, and a list of allowed personal items. He closed the file and waited for Dorothy to return, trying unsuccessfully to keep his face neutral and not let his impatience show. It was only a moment longer before she returned with a short, stocky man with thinning salt-and-pepper hair, a well-tailored suit, and world-weary eyes.

“Dean,” the man said in what Dean thought was a British accent. The man offered a hand to shake. “Welcome. Fergus Crowley, Resident Director.”

“Nice to meet you.” Dean took the offered hand firmly.

“I’ll need to search your bags, of course.” The man reached out and helped remove the bags from Dean’s shoulder before carrying them over to a table. Mr. Crowley’s face was set in a permanent smirk, one corner of his mouth always tilted up. “You will have weekly drug and alcohol screenings, more if the staff recommends it.”

Dean stood behind Crowley, eyes flitting back and forth between the Director and all Dean had to his name. He bit his lip to keep himself from protesting as the man rifled through everything he owned like Dean was a common criminal.

“All of the common areas are under twenty-four-hour video surveillance and you’re not allowed to be inside another resident’s room at any time. You’ll be provided with a schedule for therapy sessions. In addition to following that schedule, you will also be assigned community service duties. Your room will be inspected daily, so keep it clean. You’ll be allowed three fifteen minute phone calls per week--” Crowley pulled a cell phone out of Dean’s bag, waving it without looking back. “--which will be made from the phone in the recreation room, as there are no cell phones allowed.” Crowley set the cell phone aside along with a few other small items. “Everything is covered in more detail in the rules & regulations, which I assume you have a copy of.”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean held the file up with an awkward smile even though Crowley hadn’t turned to look at him for the entire time he’d been speaking.

“If you have any questions, a staff member will be happy to assist you. I will have one of our long term residents show you to your room.” Then he packed Dean’s belongings back into his bags and returned them with a perfunctory smile. Dean hoped his interaction with the Director would be minimal and followed him out into the corridor. Dean watched a small group of people walk by, smiling and laughing as they shared some private joke.

“Anna!” Crowley called out after scanning the group. A tall, thin redhead glanced in their direction and the Director beckoned her over. The others kept moving as she waved a farewell to them.

“Good morning, Mr.Crowley.” She jogged over with a bright smile and came to a stop just in front of them, making eye contact with Crowley as she spoke.

“Would you kindly show Mr. Winchester to his room?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Anna looked over at Dean and for a split second, her face went blank. But the smile returned as quickly as it had disappeared. “Come on, Winchester.”

She started walking away without looking back. Dean stared, a little slack-jawed, after her for a moment before dismissing the weird change in her facial expression. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and walked after her.

“So, what do you think of Sword & Cross so far?” Anna asked, glancing over her shoulder at him as he looked around, examining his surroundings with a pained expression.

“Uh, I mean, I just got here…” Dean shrugged and smiled apologetically. He didn’t want to point out the sorry state of the facility to this stranger.

“It’s okay. I’ve been around long enough to know it’s kind of a shit hole.” Anna winked at him and Dean felt himself flush in embarrassment. Was he that obvious? “But we have a few nice things, I guess. The garden is beautiful and we have a well-stocked library.”

“That’s good. I’ll definitely have to spend some time in the library.”

“We have a rec room, too, but it doesn’t have anything good in it. Mostly old board games and a ping-pong table. So, what brings you here, Winchester?” It was a probing question and though Anna was still smiling, something in her expression changed again, something Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. He schooled his face, hiding as well as he could how uncomfortable the question made him.

“Oh, you know, the usual.” He blinked as the corridor seemed to fade from view and he could see it clearly, like it was happening right in front of him all over again.

_He wasn't in the house anymore but Dean still felt the fire searing his flesh. He didn't know how he got out, he just had to find Sam. He looked up at the burning wreckage, the fire had spread faster than should have been possible. He couldn't see Sammy anywhere._  
  
_Dread pooled in Dean's gut as he frantically searched for his brother outside. The longer he went without seeing Sam, the more the acid churned in his stomach. "No. No, no, no, no." He repeated the word like a mantra. He screamed his brother's name and ran toward the house, but strong arms caught him._  
  
_He didn't recognize the person who held him in place or the voice in his ear saying it was too late._  
  
_Dean screamed Sammy's name over and over, his voice cracking and breaking as his heart fell to pieces inside him.  He didn't feel the tears that streamed down his face and evaporated in the heat of the flames. All he felt was the shattering pain inside him, the pain of knowing his baby brother was dead and it was his fault. All he could see were pieces of himself scattered on the ground, burning with his brother in that house fire._

“I just want to get better,” Dean said with a frown, unwilling to share his entire life story with Anna as the memory passed. “What about you?”

“Oh, you know, the usual as well,” Anna said. She smiled sadly and looked away. “I was in a really bad place and I turned to drugs as an escape. When I overdosed the third time, I realized I was going to kill myself if I kept going the way I was.”

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. He couldn’t imagine being that open with a close friend, let alone a complete stranger. She stopped in front of a door with small brass numbers on it: _17._  Dean’s room.

“Alright, here you are. I’m sure Crowley didn’t tell you this but you won’t have anything scheduled until tomorrow. Dinner is at seven, so you have plenty of time to get settled in.” Anna paused, watching him intently with her lower lip caught between her teeth. “And listen, if you want a tour of the place later, I can come back by.”

Dean hesitated, searching her face for some indication of her intentions and finding nothing that made her seem insincere. He didn’t want to get too attached to anyone but that didn’t mean Dean couldn’t use a friend or two while he was there. Smiling, or at least trying to, he nodded his agreement.

“Yeah, sure. Give me a couple of hours to get my shit together.”

“Sounds good. I’ll come back around two.”

“Yeah, see you then,” Dean replied. He was antsy, anxious to have some time to himself. Anna waved and he watched her make her way down the corridor and away from him.

* * *

Samandriel’s forehead wrinkled in a way that didn’t match his youthful face. “The poor guy has no idea what he’s in for.” He picked at his cuticles, hands resting on the table in front of him as he did.

“Yeah. I don’t know,” Anna replied, looking at her friend with thoughtful eyes and wishing he wasn’t so worried about Dean. “Maybe it’ll be different this time.”

Balthazar smirked, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a finger across one eyebrow. “You know something I don’t?”

“What? No, it’d just be nice for a change, that’s all.” Anna put a hand over Samandriel’s, stilling his nervous movement and making him look up to meet her gaze. She attempted a reassuring smile but it was useless. They all knew how this was going to go.

“Alright,” Balthazar said, leaning forward over the table. “Let’s make this interesting, then. Twenty to one, Dean goes down in flames like always.”

Anna shrugged. “I’m in for a hundred,” she said with a smirk.

“Anna!” Samandriel admonished, pulling his hands away from her.

“What?” Regardless of how she felt about it, she knew there was nothing she could do to change it.

“Alfie?” Balthazar asked mockingly, using an old nickname from their childhoods.

Samandriel refused to take the bait, keeping his face neutral as he spoke. “That’s cruel. This isn’t a game, Zar.”

Balthazar shrugged, unable to keep the smile from his face. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. But here we go again.”

* * *

It was a relatively plain room, in significantly better shape than the entryway and office were. The bottom half of the walls were papered with white and pale blue stripes, and the top half painted white. One wide window sat above a plain wooden desk, and the full-size bed was covered with a pale blue comforter that almost matched the stripes on the walls. A few plastic hangers were already situated on the bar inside the tiny closet next to the door that led into a full en suite bathroom. That was a relief. He dropped his bags onto the bed and peered over at the short dresser against the wall opposite the window. It was more room than he would need.

Dean tried not to let his mind wander back to Sam as he started unpacking. He sang _Free Fallin’_ to himself as he searched for a place to put his clothes and set the photo of Sam on the desk. It only took him fifteen minutes or so to unpack and organize all his belongings. When he was finished, Dean laid on the bed. It was comfortable and the blanket was thick. Not that he’d been overly concerned, but at least Dean knew it would be warm. Hell, it almost felt like his bed back at Bobby’s. Maybe he had time to take a nap. He hadn’t been there for very long, but he was already exhausted. The day had been stressful between coming to Sword & Cross and not being able to have a drink. Then again, Dean was tired all the time.

Everything, even existing, became a chore after Sammy died in the fire. Dean rolled onto his side and stared at his brother’s bright, happy eyes and dopey smile under the glass of the picture frame. The night he’d taken that picture hung in his mind like it had happened yesterday instead of years ago.

_“Dean!” Sam called over his shoulder, a ridiculously wide, goofy grin on his face. “You’re gonna make us miss the opener!” He was jogging toward the front doors of Savannah theater._

_“You have your ticket, go ahead! I’ll catch up,” Dean replied, waving a hand at him and hoping that Sam would listen for once. He dragged his feet because he hated Ladyheart and really didn’t want to see the show at all. But they were Sam’s favorite band so, of course, he’d bought the tickets anyway. Since their parents died, Sam was his whole life. He’d do anything to make sure he was happy, even seeing some sellout hair band that wouldn’t know rock if it bit them in the ass._

_Sam waited for him anyway, not wanting to go in without his brother, and by the time they made it through the doors, Dean could hear the crowd inside screaming as the band came onto the stage. He grimaced when Sam looked at him with accusing eyes. They hadn’t missed the first song, but they were cutting it pretty damn close._

_Dean wanted to hate the show, he really did, but Sam was having so much fun. He cheered for the band, eyes sparkling with joy while he sang along with every song. Sometime about halfway through, Dean started tapping his toes along to the beat of the music. By the time the show was over, Sammy was hoarse from all the singing and screaming, but he grinned from ear to ear and Dean’s expression mirrored his brothers because he was ecstatic to see Sam so pleased. As soon as they climbed into the Impala, Dean pulled out his flip-phone and snapped a picture of his beaming baby brother._

_“Put that away, Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes but the brilliant smile remained plastered on his face._

_“What? I can’t make a memory of my brother being happy?”_

Dean sighed, giving up on the idea of sleep. He wouldn’t be able to nap if Sammy was bouncing around his brain. He sat up and reached for the file Dorothy gave him when he checked in, skimming through the pages of rules. There was nothing new there, he went over them all in detail when he signed his contract. He pulled out the page titled _Schedule_ and started to read.

 

Wednesday

7:30 A.M.-8:45 A.M. - Breakfast served in cafeteria

9:00 A.M. - Room Inspections

9:30 A.M. - Individual Therapy with Dr. Kevin Tran

11:00 A.M. - Group Therapy*

12:00 P.M.-1:30 P.M. - Lunch served in cafeteria

1:30 P.M.-2:30 P.M. - Free Time

2:30 P.M. - Group Therapy**

4:00 P.M. - Community Service (Kitchen Duty)

5:00 P.M.-6:30 P.M. - Dinner served in cafeteria

6:30 P.M. - Free Time/Community event

10:00 P.M. - Curfew

11:00 P.M. - All Quiet/Lights Out

 

*A list of suggested group therapies will be provided in individual therapy and times those therapies are available will be provided.

**Exemptions will be granted on days when college classes are provided if participating in those classes.

 

Dean continued through the rest of the weekly schedule and saw that it was mostly the same. Some days his community service and free times were switched around, and his fifteen-minute phone calls were inserted at seemingly random times. At least they no one expected him to be out of bed before sunrise.

Sighing, he continued thumbing through the paperwork in his file until he came across a course catalog for Savannah State University. The intake woman mentioned that Sword & Cross had a partnership with the university at the initial contract meeting, he remembered as he flipped through the pages, looking at the majors they offered and the classes he could take. Dean hated school but Sam attended Stanford after graduating high school, and he had always insisted that Dean should take some college classes. Dean only considered doing it in the memory of his brother.

As he looked through the majors, his eyes settled on Religious Studies. Church had never been Dean’s slice of pie, but he remembered Sam always had faith. How he managed to maintain it after their parents died, Dean didn’t know. He wondered if Sam remembered Mom telling them the same thing every night. “Angels are watching over you,” she’d said, kissing their foreheads and bidding them sweet dreams.

Scanning the list of religious studies classes, Dean thought maybe that was his problem. He had no faith. He didn’t have to get the degree, he finally decided, but while he was here, it wouldn’t hurt to try it. He might learn something new, something that would help him cope with the guilt and loss--something other than liquor and drugs. Bobby got him through the worst of the withdrawals, but the need was always there in the back of Dean’s mind. And even if he knew he shouldn’t judge Sword & Cross just yet, given that he’d only been there for a few hours, he didn’t think the environment was conducive to recovery. He still needed a drink--or twelve--and could still close his eyes and feel the way the whiskey burned as he swallowed it, filling the emptiness in his chest with a temporary warmth that he chased after constantly.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Dean sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hands. He sat up at the end of the bed, taking a moment to collect himself and make sure his face behaved before crossing the room to open the door. Anna stood on the other side, an almost picture perfect copy of herself from earlier that day. It was eerie the way her smile hadn’t changed at all, like it was painted onto her porcelain skin. Dean hadn’t forgotten the moment of… well, he didn’t really know what it was, but he remembered how Anna’s face went impassive in front of the office that morning, and he wanted to know what was going on with her. It was probably none of his business, though, so he kept his mouth shut and his questions to himself.

“Ready for that tour?”

Dean forced what he hoped was a smile onto his face and stepped out of the room with a nod. As she guided him through the facilities, he barely listened to what Anna was saying, only paying enough attention to know when to respond with a smile or an “uh-huh.” She either didn’t notice his lack of attention or she didn’t care. Either option was just fine with Dean as long as she left him alone about it. He was still wrapped up in his own mind, caught between fond and tragic memories of his brother and the need for something, anything, to fill the hole in his chest and numb the pain in his heart.

Even through his lack of attention, Dean noticed how thorough her tour was. He saw the library, the cafeteria, and the rec room. Hell if he remembered how they got there, though. Sword & Cross was a lot bigger than Dean expected it to be, and there was an endless supply of corridors and stairwells leading somewhere or another. How was he supposed to keep it all straight?

“Anyway, those are the finer points,” Anna stated with some degree of finality. “Most of us spend the majority of our free time outside.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine spending all my time inside this place.” Dean's heart thudded anxiously and his eyebrows shot up as blood rushed into his cheeks. He didn’t mean to say that out loud. Fortunately, Anna just laughed.

“I get that. It's depressing as fuck in here,” she replied, her teeth flashing as she smirked. “Come on, I’ll show you where we usually convene.”

Dean returned the contagious grin as he let Anna lead the way to a door on one side of the cafeteria which led straight into the huge garden he’d gotten a glimpse of upon his arrival that morning. It was beautiful, well cared for, and a stark contrast to the gloom of the interior. It was obvious that the people at Sword & Cross loved the neatly hedged-in area with magnolia trees and evenly spaced stone benches. The scent of the flowers that had managed to cling to life this late in the year was intoxicating and Dean breathed it in deeply. He couldn’t put a finger on why, but magnolias always reminded him of his mother. Now they reminded him of Sam.

The garden was busier than Dean imagined it would be. Staff and residents alike milled about or stood in groups, their conversations carrying past Dean on the light breeze. His attention was caught by the fountain. It was almost as big as the one in the town square. The archangel Gabriel stood proudly in its center, holding his horn to his lips, unmoving as the water poured steadily from its bell opening to babble into the basin below. A few people sat around the edges of the fountain’s base, eating or smoking as they chatted with friends. Dean wondered why the tile in the lobby never got repaired if they could afford the upkeep for a garden like this. It must take a small fortune to maintain the fountain alone.

“Most of the time, my friends and I can be found out here. If we’re not having our heads shrunk, anyway.” His eyes followed curiously as Anna gestured toward a few benches that situated particularly close together on the other side of the fountain. Two men sat on the benches, deep in conversation. The one on the left was older, maybe a little taller than his younger companion, but they both had blond hair and blue eyes and their faces were similar enough that they could be mistaken for relatives. Anna was already heading toward them, and Dean pursed his lips tightly before blowing out a breath and following her.

They had only taken a few steps when Dean stopped short, his breath suddenly caught in his throat. Anna was still talking but he was so consumed by the vision before him that he couldn’t make out what she was saying. The man had dark, artfully mussed hair and he was tall, almost as tall as Dean. He might have been mistaken for thin, save for the bulging of his biceps against the sleeves of his t-shirt. Who was he? He leaned up against the building with his arms crossed lightly over his chest. And for a split second, Dean saw a flashing image of himself folded into those arms. He shook his head but the vision stayed so clear that he almost took off toward him.

No, that was crazy. Right? Even in a place full of crazies, Dean was well aware that this instinct was insane. He didn't even know him!

“That’s Castiel.” Anna gestured in the direction Dean stared in. “He’s a strange one but definitely the hottest guy here.”

Dean tried his hardest to ignore the feeling in his gut as he watched the stranger. There was something there, something familiar. The sun shone from behind him, creating a glowing aura that made the man seem otherworldly. Dean’s feet carried him toward Castiel, though he didn’t remember making the choice to approach him, and it felt like going home. The man in front of him consumed all of his focus and left him with only a vague awareness that Anna still followed him over to Castiel. Dean couldn’t concentrate and it was hard to get a bead on anyone or anything other than the man he felt so drawn to.

Castiel was even more handsome up close. His full lips were enticing below a straight nose and his strong jawline was covered in a day’s worth of stubble, but what left Dean speechless was his intense, deep blue eyes. Their gazes locked, and Dean thought for sure he saw a spark of recognition.

 

 

 

“Don’t you know it's rude to stare?” Castiel asked as that initial spark faded. He looked away and Dean felt foolish, his ears tingeing red and his cheeks warming as he inspected his fingernails.

“Hey, Cassie,” Anna said with the bright smile she seemed to employ for every awkward occasion. “This is Dean. He’s the new arrival. I’m giving him the nickel tour.”

“I am not interested in being part of your tour, Anna. And I have told you not to call me that.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open in surprise and he wondered why Castiel was being such a dick. It was so unlike him. Why did Dean think it was weird for the man to be a douchebag? They didn’t know each other. They’d never met before. Right? So, how could Dean possibly know what sort of behavior was normal for Castiel?

“Sorry, Cas.” Dean automatically shortened his name like they were old friends and the nickname was second nature. “She didn’t mean to make you part of the tour. I just thought I knew you, so I came over to see.”

“I don’t know you, nor do I have any desire to. So, do me a favor and get out of the way.” Castiel shouldered his way past Dean, shoving him hard enough to knock him off balance and make him stumble back a few paces. Dean’s jaw clenched and his brow furrowed as he watched Cas’s back moving quickly and steadily away from him.

What the actual fuck was wrong with that guy? Dean’s mind refused to process what had just happened and he stood there with a slack-jawed, stupid look on his face, still staring in the direction Castiel disappeared in. Why did he feel so familiar? And why had he treated Dean so poorly? What did he do wrong?

Dean tried to shake off the feelings twisting in his gut but when Cas bumped into him, Dean felt something electric pass between them. It instantly made him feel more alive than he’d felt in ages. And Dean had no idea why.

“Hey, don’t mind him,” Anna said, pulling him out of his thoughts. He’d completely forgotten she was there.

“Yeah. Guess I just wasn’t expecting him to be such a prick.” Dean smiled at Anna as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. She was certainly more friendly than Cas was. But there was some connection there, between him and Cas. He could feel it.

“Come on, there is still more to see!” Anna practically dragged him toward the benches where her friends sat.

Dean let her pull him along, but everything she said went in one ear and right out the other. He was still stuck on Castiel. What the hell was wrong with him?

With a concerted effort, Dean scowled and pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, trying to pay more attention to Anna as they crossed the garden.


	3. Chapter 3

There was no way the kid behind the desk was old enough to be a doctor of any kind. And yet, above his head hung a framed diploma; Dr. Kevin Tran, PhD., had graduated from Yale University with a degree in Clinical Psychology. Dean wondered if the doctor got stuck with this job because no one else would hire him. No one that went Ivy took a job in a derelict rehab facility if he could’ve gotten something better. It would be understandable if employers found him hard to take seriously.

“So, Mr. Winchester--Dean,” Dr. Tran began, smiling pleasantly. Great, he didn’t just look like a twelve-year-old, he sounded like one, too. “Do you mind if I call you Dean?”

“Well, it is my name.” Dean smirked. Snark and sarcasm were his go-to coping mechanisms when he felt awkward, like he did at that moment. He couldn’t sit still, shifting in the padded chair every few seconds because he couldn’t relax. It certainly didn’t help that he was still in the midst of dealing with the strange newness of his situation. It was also unhelpful that his doctor was an actual child.

“Good. I want to make you as comfortable as possible. If you like, you may call me Kevin. But it’s also acceptable to stick with Dr. Tran.” The doctor still wore the same friendly smile under his kind eyes and showed no signs of being put off by Dean’s tone of voice. He probably dealt with that sort of thing on a regular basis.

“Uh, yeah… okay.” Dean rolled his eyes, still unsure if there was anything that would make him comfortable with Boy Wonder psychoanalyzing him.

“Your file says that you’re here because of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder with a co-occurring Substance Misuse Disorder. Is that correct?” Kevin was lifting a page in a manila folder, apparently glancing over it to make sure he had everything correct. The smile gave way to the tight lips and furrowed brow of concentration as he did so.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Dean replied, licking his lips nervously as he waited for the doctor to continue. He made a valiant, but unsuccessful, effort to be still in his chair. The fact that his fidgeting had little to no effect on the doctor’s demeanor was slightly unnerving. People back home had always bitched about his inability to contain his nerves when he felt anxious.

“Okay.” Kevin looked up at him again, his face somehow impassive and friendly at the same time. “It also says here you have flashbacks and nightmares. How long has that been happening?”

Dean looked away, catching his upper lip and rolling it between his teeth as he considered his answer. “The flashbacks started about a year ago, but I’ve been having the nightmares since I was a kid.”

The doctor nodded, jotting something down in Dean’s file before meeting his eyes again. “Have you had any recently?”

“No,” Dean lied, “not in a while.” The visions had, in fact, become both more frequent and more disturbing in the month leading up to his submission to voluntary treatment.

“So, my job is to help you uncover and work through the issues that are the root cause of your substance use and PTSD. I know that it can be difficult to talk about the traumatic experiences you’ve been through, so we’re going to take it slowly. For now, I’d just like for us to get to know each other a little better. Are you okay with that?”

“Do I have a choice?” Dean couldn’t sit in the stupid chair for another second, so he stood up and ran a hand through his hair. A long, deep breath did absolutely nothing to calm his anxiety.

Kevin watched him patiently and said, “There’s always a choice, Dean.”

Dean turned away from the doctor and snickered. “I thought all you headshrinkers did was listen to people’s problems and tell them how to fix it. Not all this get to know each other stuff.”

“A lot of people think that.” Kevin smiled again and laced his fingers together, resting his clasped hands on the desk in front of him. “The thing is, I don’t think you’re broken, Dean. Everyone has problems and everyone reacts differently to those problems. You don’t need to be fixed, you just need to learn to deal with things differently, in a healthier way.”

Dean scoffed, wishing the doctor would stop looking at him with that calm, reassuring expression that reminded him of Sam. Feeling as nervous as before, he sat in the chair again but still didn’t meet Dr. Tran’s eyes. He was definitely broken. “If you say so, Doc.” Dean didn’t want to meet the knowing eyes that made the doctor seem far older and wiser than anyone his age had a right to be. So, instead, he pretended to examine his fingernails.

They talked for about an hour and Dean was no more at ease with the scrutiny than he’d been when they started. Kevin didn’t even ask him any questions about his drinking or the flashbacks he’d reported in the initial psych eval. Just the sort of mundane questions you might ask someone you met at a football game. What do you like to do with your free time? What’s your favorite food? That sort of general bullshit. Overall, Dean was unimpressed but he took the list of group therapies and examined it carefully.

The doctor circled only two and scrawled a note at the bottom stating that based on their conversation, he was sure these would be the best fit for Dean. Martial Arts therapy and Group Talk therapy. The martial arts option was surprising. Who knew they’d give a bunch of head cases the chance to beat each other up? Punching things usually made him feel better, at least for a while, so he’d give it a shot. As for the talk therapy? Well… Dean wasn’t the sharing type, but he’d go. Not as though he really had a choice anyway.

* * *

Dean could have sworn he stepped into a support group right out of a network TV show. The chairs were set up in a semicircle so everyone in the session could see each other and Dr. Tran was sitting in a single chair opposite them, running the show. There was almost no one in the room that Dean recognized. Or at least that he noticed. He wouldn’t even try to lie to himself about how much he stared at Castiel. It was ridiculous, he knew, but Dean couldn’t stop himself. And it wasn’t as though he was going to just open up and start spilling his problems all over the floor in front of all these people.

Why had Castiel immediately been such a jerk? Maybe that’s just how the guy was. It struck him as uncharacteristic, though there was no way he could know. Even as Castiel sat in group therapy, clearly ignoring the rest of the room in favor of his notepad and pencil, Dean could almost see some bit of softness to him. Not physically, his hard muscles were clear to see in the tight gray t-shirt he wore and his face seemed to be permanently set in a scowl. It was more like… an aura, just something about the man that made Dean think he was too nice to be such an asshole. Maybe he was only an asshole to Dean. Maybe he just didn’t like broken people.

But what about the intense draw Dean felt toward him? Strong and immediate, he still couldn’t shake it. Castiel had remained at the forefront of his thoughts since they’d met in the garden. Why did it feel like they had some profound bond? It didn’t make sense. He wished he could have a few shots of whiskey to dull his mind and let go of these invading thoughts of the handsome, standoffish stranger. None of these thoughts helped ease the ache in his head, leftovers of the withdrawals Dean still experienced.

Dr. Tran dismissed the class in no time at all. Castiel practically ran out of the room, leaving Dean feeling ridiculously disappointed. And a little relieved, if he was honest with himself, that he wasn’t caught staring. Now that the therapy session was over, Dean followed the others out of the room and into the corridor that led out the front door of the building and tried to stay as unnoticeable as possible. He didn’t want anyone to ask him questions about why he was there or look at him with sad eyes full of pity. Like they’d all looked at the people who shared stories in the group. Even staring at Castiel through nearly the whole meeting, it was impossible to miss the looks.

He hadn’t spoken at all, hadn’t even told them his name, but it was intense. Dean felt exhausted again and wished he could just return to his bed for the rest of the day. Or had some pills to keep him fully awake so he could avoid the dreams that came with sleep. Of course, he had nothing like that here. No matter how he’d tried to give more than half an ear to the stories told in the group therapy session, his eyes had kept returning to examine Castiel’s chiseled features. He really wasn’t sure which had his gut twisted up in emotional knots. What the hell was wrong with him?

He walked outside and sat on the steps, breathing the damp autumn air deeply. Squeezing his eyes shut, he did his best to clear his mind, rubbing circles at his temples to try and dull the painful headache. It didn’t work. Dean opened his eyes with a sigh and looked around. Most of the people in the group with him were also outside, smoking cigarettes and chatting with other residents. Some of the people seemed so light-hearted. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt genuinely happy. 

“Coffee?” a calm, smooth tenor asked. Dean turned to look behind him and met the bright green eyes of a man holding out a small paper cup with steam rising off of it.

“Depends,” Dean replied, face set somewhere between a smirk and a grimace, “got any whiskey?”

The man laughed and shook his head, pushing the coffee toward Dean once again. He smiled and took the cup, nodding his thanks to the stranger. “I’m Gadreel. My friends call me Gad.”

“Dean.” He took a sip of the coffee and his eyes widened in surprise. “This is good coffee!” He lifted the cup to his mouth again, swallowing the strong, flavorful brew. Gadreel laughed again and it was magnetic, drawing Dean in almost the same way Castiel had. It was a similar inexplicable pull, though not nearly as powerful.

“I snuck into the staff break room.” Gadreel sat on the step so close to Dean that their sleeves would brush each other if they moved their arms. “They have an espresso machine.”

“So, you’re incorrigible.” Dean felt… something with this man. Comfortable, certainly, like they were old friends. But there was more there that he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Why did he feel connected to Gadreel as well? Was he losing it?

“That is what I am told.”

“You disagree?” For the first time, Dean felt oddly relaxed.

“I just like good coffee.” He sipped from the cup as if to prove his point.

“And you don’t mind breaking rules to get it?”

“I don’t see why not.”

The two men sat in comfortable quietude, drinking their coffee and watching as other residents went about their business. Gadreel pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. Dean pretended not to notice the tingle in his skin when Gad’s arm brushed his.

“So, what about you, Dean?” Gad asked between drags, looking over at him thoughtfully. “You don’t end up at Sword & Cross by following the rules. You got a little rebel in you?”

Dean snickered derisively. “Nah, man, I’m just broken.”

“No, you’re not broken. You’ve got a spark.” Gadreel paused, puffing on his cigarette again. “You’re the kind of man that would rather do what’s right than do what you’re told. Rules be damned.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Gad meant well and he was cute, but he didn’t know what he was talking about. “Oh, so you think you know me now?” Dean teased instead of voicing his opinion.

Gadreel just shrugged, smiling as he said, “I just call it like I see it.”

Dean cocked his head to one side, staring a moment longer at his new friend before nodding thoughtfully even though he thought Gadreel was full of shit. Their silence was companionable as they finished with their coffees. Dean looked down at his watch, noticing that the pain in his head wasn’t as bad. No wonder drunks drank so much coffee.

“Looks like playtime is over,” Dean said as he stood, offering a handshake. Gadreel stood and accepted it warmly. As they shook hands, Dean noticed a small snake tattoo on his companion’s wrist. It made him shudder, though he couldn’t figure out why. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too, Dean.” He smiled and released Dean’s hand, standing so close that Dean could feel the heat radiate from his body. He licked his lips, eyes dropping to Dean’s lips, if only for a moment, and then smiled. “If you’re ever in need of companionship, I’m in room twenty-eight.”

“I appreciate the offer but what we aren’t supposed to be in any other residents’ rooms.” Dean probably should have moved away but he didn’t. His breath caught in his chest as he stared into his companion’s eyes.

“You always do what you’re told?” Gadreel asked, finally stepping back and turning to go back inside the building.

Dean shook his head, standing to head in what he was pretty confident was the direction of the cafeteria. He’d had breakfast there this morning, just a bowl of cereal, and now that it was after noon, his stomach growled with hunger. Hopefully, the food in this place wouldn’t suck too much.

No one bothered Dean as he stood impassively in line and was served by a spunky redhead that smiled cheerfully when she pushed a plate with a cheeseburger into his hands. It was a damn good burger, too, he realized when he took his first bite after sitting at a table by himself. Sword & Cross might have a rundown look to it, but holy shit it was top-notch where it mattered.

Dean polished off the burger in no time flat, leaving plenty of spare time before the next group therapy session he was scheduled to attend, so he decided to explore a little on his own.

He meandered down the hallway, smiling at passing residents and peeking curiously into open doorways. Most didn’t really hold anything of interest and people tended to keep their doors closed whether they were in their rooms or not. Dean wasn’t really headed anywhere in particular and he managed to keep his thoughts mostly on the people he’d met since he arrived. It was better that way, distracting him temporarily from the reality of where he was and why. He was intrigued by and more than a little attracted to both Castiel and Gadreel, but there was something about the former that kept drawing Dean’s attention back. As he wandered, Gad became a vague, easy to miss idea in the back of his mind.

Soon enough, he stood just inside the entrance to the rec room. Anna was right, there wasn’t much of interest in there. There was a chess board set up on one table, a ping-pong table near the far wall, and a few old board games on a shelf with a meager supply of reading material. None of that really mattered to Dean at that moment because Castiel was sitting in a chair that he’d apparently moved to the large window that overlooked the yard. He held the same notepad and pencil Dean saw him with in the therapy session that morning and he appeared to be drawing.  It probably would have been more polite to make his presence known but Dean just watched curiously as he quietly moved closer. He wanted-- needed-- to see what Castiel was drawing.

Watching the light movement of Cas’s body as he sketched, Dean's insides felt like they were burning, like he'd swallowed something hot. He couldn't figure out why, against all reason, he had this wild premonition that Cas was drawing him. Dean watched the scribbling of Castiel’s charcoal pencil across the thick paper and he could almost see the drawing in his mind. The Eiffel Tower was in the background, and he was wearing a long, flowing morning coat as he sat at a table outside a café, looking over his shoulder with a smile as carriages passed by on the street.  
  
How could Dean know what the drawing was? He couldn't even see it. He edged closer to Cas, craning his neck to look over his shoulder at the page in front of him. It was a beautiful sketch of a landscape. The landscape outside the window he sat in front of.   
  
Dean felt like a fool. Of course, Cas wasn’t drawing him. Dean sighed a little too loudly, unsure of whether he was relieved or dejected by the revelation. How stupid could he be? His self-deprecation was interrupted by Castiel looking back over his shoulder, right into his eyes. Holy shit, the guy’s eyes were so blue. Bright and clear, Dean found that he was caught in them like a tidal wave. He should stop staring.

Castiel’s anger was evident in the crease of his brow and the hard downturn of his mouth. Some line had been crossed, but Dean didn’t do it intentionally. Curiosity got the better of him, that was all. Maybe he should try to explain himself. Before he got the chance, Castiel rose from his chair and stomped out of the room with a huff. Well, that certainly wasn’t going to win Dean any points with the guy. Why the hell did it matter if Cas liked him anyway?

Taking a last look around the rec room, Dean sighed again and rubbed his fingers against his forehead, trying to smooth the creases is out of his brow. The ever-present throb in his brain was returning. He left the same way Castiel. As he trudged down the corridor, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed. He stopped and glanced back over his shoulder but there was no one there. He was just being paranoid. Maybe it was a side effect of the post-traumatic stress disorder he’d been diagnosed with. He probably should have paid more attention to the psychiatrist that gave him the diagnosis.  
  
He kept walking, trying to ignore the feeling of eyes boring into the back of his skull. There was a fluttering sound, almost reminiscent of wings behind him, and he did his best to ignore that, too. He’d seen Sam through windows and around corners enough times since the fire to be familiar with the tricks his mind played on him sometimes. He just wanted to get to his room and lay down for a while. Every moment of sobriety was exhausting and he just wanted to sleep.   
  
He heard the flutter behind him again and could no longer resist the urge to turn. A woman with short blonde hair stood inches from him, her face angry although Dean couldn’t fathom why. She shoved him roughly with both hands and he fell backward into the wall.   
  
“Dean Winchester,” the woman said with a malicious sneer. She pressed in close, pinning him against the wall with a forearm across his chest. Her lips almost touched his ear as she whispered, “I know why you’re here.”   
  
If this had happened outside of the rehab facility, Dean might have responded differently but as it was he just stood there, unimpressed by her attempt at intimidation and hoped that a faculty member would pass by soon. “No shit. I’m here for the same reason as everyone else.”   
  
The woman threw her head back in cruel laughter that grated on Dean’s nerves. “No, Dean, you’re not like any of the other poor assholes here. You’re the only one that killed his baby brother.”   
  
Dean froze, eyes wide and jaw hanging. His heart skipped a beat or two. How the hell could she possibly know about Sam?   
  
“Oh, I know many things about you, Dean.” She stepped back, releasing her hold on him and putting her hands on her hips. The grin on her face was vicious as she spoke. “What’s it like? Knowing your poor brother was burned alive and it's all your fault?”   
  
“Shut your mouth.” Dean could feel his blood boiling in his veins and he tried to ground himself. His gut twisted itself into knots again and he tried to tell himself that she was wrong, that it hadn’t been his fault. He didn’t believe it. He knew he should have walked away as soon as she’d released him from the wall but he didn’t move.   
  
“You’re going to rot in Hell for that, buddy.” She poked a finger into his chest, eyes alight and lips curled into a sneer. She was enjoying this. “You’re gonna burn just like your brother.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Dean hated the tears he could feel welling in his eyes and the guilt he heard in his voice. How had he let her get under his skin so easily? What right did she have? He was getting angry now, letting it drown the pain a little. “You don’t even know me.”

She shoved him into the wall again, grimacing as she spoke. “Maybe not, but I know people like you. You think you should just get what you want, no matter what it takes or what the consequences are. You leave nothing but wreckage in your wake and you don’t give a damn who gets caught up in it.”

Dean had had just about enough, his face twisted anger. Fighting wasn’t allowed but at that moment, he couldn’t possibly have cared less about the rules. She deserved whatever she got.

“Naomi!” Anna called from behind her. Dean was so wrapped up in what the little blonde was saying that he hadn’t noticed her arrival. “Leave him alone!”

“Maybe I should just get rid of you now and save everyone the pain,” Naomi said, ignoring the redhead.

He shoved her viciously, hard enough to send her careening across the hall into the wall opposite him with a thud. To his surprise, Naomi laughed almost maniacally. He shot away from the wall in her direction, ready to shut her stupid mouth with his fist, but Anna got between them.

“It isn’t worth it, Dean,” she said softly, stopping him with a hand splayed across his chest. He glared at her, wondering who the hell she thought she was to decide that for him.

“What’s going on here?” Crowley appeared from around the corner, watching the scene with a disapproving scowl. “Breaking rules already, Mr. Winchester?”

“I was just defending myself, sir,” he replied, trying, and failing, to keep his voice even. “She attacked me.”

The stout British man looked at Dean’s assailant with obvious distaste. “Oh, I have no doubt of that. However, just because she started it doesn’t excuse you from continuing it.”

Dean was unwilling to admit that was a fair point. Once Naomi had freed him from the wall, he should have let it go but she pushed his buttons. Every single goddamned one of them.

“Naomi, I will see you in my office.” Naomi sneered at the director and left in that direction. “As for you, Mr. Winchester, this is your only warning, understand? If I should see this kind of behavior from you again, you will be removed from the program.”

“Yes, Mr. Crowley. I understand,” Dean replied through gritted teeth. The tension from the encounter held his body tight, muscles in his back and shoulders bunched and hands fisted at his sides. Crowley just nodded at him and gave Anna a pointed look. _Watch him,_  it said. As if he needed a babysitter.

As Crowley disappeared in the direction of his office, Dean turned to stare at the wall and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Slowly his muscles began to relax and he looked at Anna. She watched him with concern but said nothing. “What’s her damage?”

“That is a loaded question,” Anna replied with a huff of laughter, the wry smile spreading across her face making her seem a little more relaxed than she had been. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He wasn’t, really. His blood was still hot in his veins and he wanted… needed a drink or some pills or something--anything-- to numb himself, but he wasn’t going to share that with her. As far as he was concerned, the only people here that needed to know about his past were the director and Dr. Tran. Hell, he really wished he didn’t have to talk to them about it. Dean glanced down at his watch and sighed. There was probably still enough time for him to take a short nap but after that whole ordeal, there was no way he’d get his mind or body to shut off so he could sleep. He said goodbye to Anna and decided to go to his next group therapy session a little early. Maybe he could help set up the chairs or something. Anything to stay busy, to distract him and keep the thoughts of Sam away.

Dean was pleased to be in the kitchen. It was the first time he’d actually felt comfortable since he got to Sword & Cross. And for all that the rest of the place was dilapidated, the kitchen was state of the art. The ovens and range-tops looked damn near brand new, and they were the fancy kind that he’d seen in cooking shows but never had the opportunity to use. He wondered for a moment if he could convince Dr. Tran that cooking was therapeutic. Dean already was already wearing one of the white cloth aprons that had been hanging on the hooks by the door when the chipper redhead that had served him that awesome burger walked in.

“What up, bitches?” she said jovially as she turned to face him. “New minion, welcome to the kitchen. I’m your dark overlord. What’s your name?”

“Uh, Dean.” The girl’s enthusiasm was contagious and combining that with the comfort being in the kitchen brought, Dean relaxed considerably and he couldn’t help but smile at her. “So… do I call you Dark Overlord or--?”

“Yeah, preferably with an ‘all hail’ preceding it.” She looked around and laid eyes on the other resident that was assigned to the kitchen that day. “Samandriel, you’ll be on sides. Dean, I hope you can handle the chicken.”

“Of course I can,” Dean replied with a wink. “I know my way around a kitchen.”

“Well, less talking and more cooking then.” She headed off toward the front half of the kitchen to do… whatever it was that she did. Give people the food, he guessed.

Dean knew what he could see but hadn’t a clue where anything else was in the kitchen. “Hey, Samandriel? Can you show me where to find spices and whatnot? Our Dark Overlord didn’t exactly give me a tour.”

The boy turned toward him with a smile that took up his whole face. “Absolutely! Follow me.” The kid headed off toward some shelves in the back with Dean close on his heels and taking in the placement of everything on the way. “Her real name is Charlie, by the way.”

“Hmm… I think that probably suits her better. She doesn’t seem like the evil leader type.” He smiled politely at Alfie as he pointed out the shelf Dean needed.

“Yeah, she’s a sweetheart. Let me know if you need any help with anything, okay?” Samandriel left Dean to sort out what he needed for himself, which didn’t take long. Dean found that he was very curious how the kid had ended up here. He had a naive sweetness to him that made him seem out of place and Dean wasn’t really sure how to feel about it.

The actual cooking part was easy and the chicken went into the ovens quickly, so Dean went to ask Charlie if there was anything else he could do to help. They ended up on the cafeteria floor, wiping down tables and making sure napkins and plasticware were stocked up.

“So, Dark Overlord Charlie, how did you end up at Sword & Cross?” Dean asked, trying to make conversation to break the monotony of their silence.

“Oh, I needed a job and my girlfriend was already working here. She got me the interview and here I am,” Charlie replied easily as she wiped some crumbs into her hand.

“That was nice of her. You like being the cook here?”

“I’m not the cook. I actually work in records. I’m just filling in right now since the regular chef just had a baby. Crowley didn’t want to hire another cook and I live here, so it made sense.”

All the cleaning had been finished and it was nearing time for Dean to check the chicken. He looked over at her with wide eyes. “Wait, you work here _and_ live here? Don’t you get tired of this place?”

“Not really. There’s a pretty extensive library and we actually have great wifi, not that you guys can take advantage of it. Plus Dot works a lot of late nights, so we actually get to spend more time together this way.” Charlie leaned in close and whispered, “Sometimes after hours we have sex on Crowley’s desk.”

Dean laughed loudly and hoped he would be getting to spend more time in the kitchen. He and Charlie were going to get along very well.


	4. Chapter 4

_Dean pulled up outside of Cas’s house and parked the shiny black Impala out front. He couldn’t wait to show it off. Stepping out of the car with a smile, he wrapped his leather jacket around himself and leaned up against the driver’s side as Cas jogged down the walk in a pair of jeans and a soft, blue sweater._   
  
_“Hey,” Dean said as Cas approached. He pulled his boyfriend close and wrapped his arms tightly around him, planting a soft, chaste kiss on Cas’s lips before releasing him again._   
  
_“What’s this?” Cas circled the car with an eyebrow raised and Dean appreciated that he was at least trying to show some interest. He knew Cas wasn’t that into cars._   
  
_“It’s my car! I just bought her. She’s got a 327 and a 4-barrel carburetor. Isn’t she beautiful?” Dean could barely contain his excitement. Cas looked up at him and smiled warmly and Dean’s stomach fluttered._   
  
_“You’re beautiful,” he said. Dean could feel the warm blush creep up his neck and into his cheeks. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”_   
  
_They clambered into the car and Dean drove them to Jay Bird’s Diner. They had to be careful, going out like this is a small town like Lawrence, so they sat across from each other in the booth, and Dean did his best not to reach out and touch Cas’s face or hold his hand._   
  
_“Maybe I should talk to your dad?” Cas asked, uncertainty clear in his voice._   
  
_“My dad’s being my dad, Cas. He’s never gonna understand. Talking to him is a waste of time, believe me.” Dean put his burger down and wiped a hand on his jacket as he spoke._   
  
_“I don’t want to cause any more problems between you and your family.” Castiel picked at his cuticles and looked anywhere but Dean’s eyes. It was like he was hiding something. But what could it be? Dean felt his mind pull toward the question._   
  
_“Cas, my dad just thinks this is some kind of weird phase. He doesn’t think…”_   
  
_“That you can make a life with a man? He’s not necessarily wrong, Dean.”_

 _Dean wished he knew what secret Cas was trying so hard to keep. Why he was trying to push Dean away. There was no way Dean was going to let that happen. Caution be damned._   
  
_“Cas,” Dean said, reaching across the table to tightly grip one of his hands, “I love you, exactly the way you are. I don’t care what my dad thinks. Don’t ever forget that.”_

Dean woke with a start, sitting straight up in his bed and gasping for air as his heart thudded so hard he thought it might beat right out of his chest. What the fuck? So he was dreaming about Castiel now? The dream felt so real and like most of the vision-like nightmares he had, it didn’t fade away with consciousness. It was more like a memory than a dream. But it couldn’t be. It was literally impossible. For one thing, everyone in the dream diner had been wearing suede fringe and bellbottoms. Dean sure as hell hadn’t been around for the ‘70s. He rolled and reached automatically for the pills in the bedside table, cursing under his breath and rubbing a hand across his face when he found the drawer empty. Of course, there was nothing in there. Fuck this place.

Glaring at the glowing numbers of the clock on his little nightstand, Dean realized his alarm wouldn’t go off for nearly an hour. He laid back against his pillow, staring up at the ceiling and trying to calm himself, to forget about the ridiculous dream of Castiel. Would be easier if he had some damn whiskey. Breathing deep and slow, it took forever for his heart rate to normalize and his body to stop trembling. There was no driving out the thoughts of Cas, though.

He turned on the lamp and set about making sure his room was properly tidied. Sam's eyes followed Dean from their place in the photograph on his desk no matter how he tried to avoid looking at it. It was creepy, like Sammy somehow knew everything was Dean’s fault. He should have told his brother the truth back then, before the fire, but he’d just wanted to be normal, wanted to give Sam as normal a life as possible. So, he never said anything about the cloying black smoke that seemed to appear immediately before every bad thing that ever happened in his life. Never mentioned that it had been there the night their parents died in a fire. Dean had never warned Sam how dangerous being around him was. All because he was too selfish to let the kid go. He’d been dead for almost two years now and Dean still couldn’t let him go.

He finished his morning chores mechanically. With time to spare, Dean decided to get out the room, away from Sam’s accusing eyes. The cafeteria wasn’t serving breakfast yet but he was sure there were residents that woke this early. The rec room seemed like his best choice. He could read a book, maybe stare mournfully out the window or some dramatic shit like that. Pretend that he was just an actor in some movie, that this wasn’t his real life at all. Escape just for a little while.

He was right about some of the others being awake already. He passed a couple of open bedroom doors with light spilling out of them, occupants sitting at desks or on the ends of beds. He stopped short at the door to the rec room. Castiel was there again, in the same chair he’d occupied last time. He was scratching away at his notepad with a pencil and seemed completely oblivious to the world around him. Dean caught his lower lip between his teeth, hesitant to approach after the way things went last time.

Castiel was absorbed in whatever he was doing, face serious and intent on the page in front of him. His perpetual bedhead was in even more disarray than seemed to be the norm. The way the shadows played across his features made him look almost celestial, like so much more than a simple earthbound creature, and the light behind him surrounded him in a glowing aura. Even without the bond Dean felt, he would have had to admit the man before him was beautiful.

“You know, you look a stalker right now,” a playful, accented voice said softly behind him. It startled Dean from his reverie and he flushed, turning to see the older man that was at Anna’s table in the garden during her tour. “I’m Balthazar.”

“Uh… Dean. Nice to meet you.” He reached out to shake the man’s hand, trying not to be awkward. What was with the names of people in this place? “I wasn’t trying to be weird, I just didn’t want to bother him.”

“Right… you definitely weren’t staring at Cassie like a drooling fangirl.” Balthazar winked at him. “It's alright, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Yeah… okay.” Was he really being that obvious? Of course, he was. He was literally standing in a doorway watching every little move the dude made. Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to avoid the headache he could feel coming on. Definitely trying to avoid thinking of how he could possibly get his hands on some painkillers or something.

“Well, anyway, I saw you around with Anna, so I figure you must be alright. I’m in the room next to hers, so I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.” He waved with two fingers and pushed past Dean into the rec room, crossing it to sit with Cas.

Dean’s heart damn near stopped as Castiel smiled, laughing softly at something Balthazar said. Holy hell, how was he so far gone on this dude? It took him a moment to tear his eyes away but Dean bolted as soon as he did. He was torn between avoiding Cas like the fucking plague and doing everything in his power to see that smile again. This was getting ridiculous.

His therapy session with Dr. Tran was immediately after breakfast and Dean did not expect it to go well as he was already in a sour mood. The headache that had become a regular part of his daily existence grew exponentially worse with every passing moment. They were almost halfway through the hour when Dr. Tran appeared to notice Dean’s mind was elsewhere.

“You seem distracted, Dean,” the doctor said, smiling and watching him with careful, tolerant eyes.

Dean glared at him but didn’t respond. He expected Dr. Tran to push, to question why his preoccupation. Instead, Doogie Howser waited silently, patiently. It was an unexpectedly effective technique. “I miss my Uncle Bobby,” Dean blurted, surprising himself.  “I mean, I know I’ve only been here a couple days but… I don’t know. I just miss him.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Being in a place like this, not being able to talk to your family whenever you want, is rough.” Kevin’s smile was sympathetic now.

“Yeah,” Dean responded softly. He hid the pain and sadness in his eyes by looking down at his hands and carefully examining the lines across his knuckles. His breath shook as he held back tears. “But, uh, I get my first call today. So, I’ll get to hear his voice for a while at least.”

Bobby was like the father John Winchester never got the chance to be, though Dean didn’t make it easy on him. Even before the drinking-- before the drugs-- it was a constant battle. Bobby just wanted him to be a kid. As far as Dean was concerned, taking care of Sam was always his duty. Even at a young age, he took on all the stress and sacrifice that went along with being responsible for the life of another human being. Because of that, Dean and Bobby butted heads a lot. His struggles with addiction after Sam died only made that worse.

The session was over and Dean was walking out the door before he knew it. He went through the motions for the rest of the morning, doing all of the things he was required to do while all he could think about was Castiel’s stupidly handsome face. Trying to stave off the worst of the ache behind his eyes, he drank coffee. It tasted like shit, especially after the cup Gadreel gave him, and it did nothing to alleviate the pain. By the time he stalked into the cafeteria at noon, he was ready to snap.

His black mood must have been apparent on his face because Charlie looked at him with genuine concern as she handed him a plate. He grumbled his thanks before turning his angry frown away from her and heading to the condiment table to load his fries with ketchup. The universe had clearly turned its back on him that day because when he pushed the pump down, instead of it flowing onto his plate it shot straight toward him, covering the front of his t-shirt in red goop. Dean growled in frustration, throwing his entire plate into the nearest trash can. Ignoring the stares and surprised gasping of the people around him, he headed straight for the closest bathroom. He scraped as much of the mess as he could off into the sink before taking the shirt off to run it under the cold water.

He didn’t know why he bothered scrubbing violently at the red spot that had taken over the front of the t-shirt. It was just a shirt. Plain white, at least it had been twenty minutes ago. There was no sentimental attachment to it. He just felt compelled to wash the damn thing. This he could fix. Maybe.

“Woah, who got murdered?” The bright voice belonged to Charlie, probably coming in to make sure Dean was okay. He wasn’t. Her usual cheery smile faded as he scowled fiercely at her, still angrily scrubbing the now pink stain. He was going to rub a hole in it at this rate but it still wasn’t clean enough.

"Okay, I shouldn't have said that," Charlie said. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger and her eyes darted around the room. "Nope, that was not funny. I thought it was going to be funny, but it wasn't and now I am babbling."

Dean turned back to his task, ignoring her uncomfortable fidgeting.

"You know what, I'm gonna go. If you are an amazing human being, and you decide that you don't hate me, I will be in the kitchen later and we can just pretend this never happened."  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Charlie nod her head before awkwardly doing finger guns as she backed toward the door. At any other moment, he might have laughed. Right now, all he could do was wash. Her sigh was audible as she turned to face away from Dean and shook her head before disappearing around the corner. The stain still wasn’t gone. It was a just barely existent shade of pink. Dean couldn’t even clean a god damned shirt properly.

He wanted to scream, hit something. Mostly he wanted--needed-- a fucking drink. Instead, Dean wrung out the shirt with a heavy sigh and leaned over the sink, letting the still wet fabric hang from one hand. The face in the mirror was becoming less recognizable as himself. It looked older, wearier. Lines creased his forehead and his eyebrows were drawn together. His lips were set into a hard downturn and his eyes were a glittering, glassy reflection of the rage --the helplessness-- he couldn’t escape.

“Today is just a bad day,” Dean told himself. Just another bad day in a long string of bad days. Just another day that he couldn’t make things right. He could never make things right.

His anger made his headache worse. A glance at his watch told Dean he only had another hour to wait. Then he could call Bobby. Hearing the old man’s voice would help. That’s what he told himself, anyway. At the very least it would help distract him from the way his mind and body were begging for a fix. Everything was too much and he just wanted to be numb again. Just for a little while. Taking a deep breath, Dean pushed away from the sink. He sure as hell didn’t want to see his reflection anymore. Instead of returning to the cafeteria, Dean went straight to his room, shut the door, and set an alarm on the bedside clock. If he couldn’t scratch that itch, he’d just sleep.

 _"Uncle Bobby," Dean called as he searched frantically through the kitchen, throwing open the cupboard doors and letting them bang loudly against each other. "Where's my whiskey?"_   
  
_He turned as his uncle entered the room. Bobby shook his head and sighed._   
  
_"There's nothing but a big bottle of 'fuck you' in those cabinets, Dean. I tossed all the liquor." Dean rounded on him, anger burning in his eyes. He needed a drink to stop the memories, drown his emotions. Bobby sighed before speaking again, "You're a goddamn alcoholic, Dean, and if you won't get help, well I have to do things like this."_   
  
_"Whatever," Dean spat at his uncle. He pushed past him, nearly knocking the older man off his feet. He grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door as he left. His sweat-sheened skin crawled and his heartbeat pounded inside his skull. It was too late to go to a liquor store. If he couldn't get whiskey, there were other ways to numb the pain. He jumped into the Impala, pulling his phone out and dialing his dealer._

The alarm blared and Dean opened his eyes with a sigh, pressing the button to silence the clock. He couldn’t even manage to escape reality in his dreams. He dragged himself off the mattress, slid his shoes on and dragged himself to the rec room where the phones were. Finally, he dialed his uncle and hoped this moment would mark an improvement in the day.

 _“Singer’s Salvage,”_ Bobby answered just after the second ring.

“Hey, Uncle Bobby, it’s me.”

_“Dean? I’ve been waiting to hear from you. How are things going?”_

“Well, it's only been a couple days, so I don’t honestly have an answer for that. But I met a few people.” Dean thought immediately of Castiel. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to push the man to the back of his mind. “Made at least one friend, so that’s good at least.”

 _“That’s great, boy. I know it hasn’t been long but I’m really praying this place will help you.”_ There was a long pause on the other end of the line. _“I miss you, son.”_

Dean’s heart hurt at the sadness in his uncle’s voice. He missed the old Dean. The Dean before the trauma of Sam’s death. The Dean that didn’t break everything he touched. “I miss you, too, Uncle Bobby.” A moment of poignant silence passed between them and Dean blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. He wished his emotions would control themselves. “So, my psychologist is a twelve-year-old.”

_“Do what?”_

“Well, I mean… not an actual twelve-year-old. He just looks like one. And sounds like one. But he has a degree from Yale, so I guess he knows what he’s doing.”

_“Well, I sure as hell hope so. So, tell me about these people you’ve met. They seem decent?”_

“Yeah. Well, mostly.” Dean thought about Naomi attacking him in the resident hall. “There’s one chick that doesn’t seem to like me much but other than that the most outrageous response I’ve gotten so far is being ignored. All in all, I guess that’s not so bad.”

_“It sounds like you’re settling in pretty good.”_

“I’m trying. Hey, Uncle Bobby,” Dean started, “You ever heard of someone called Castiel?” He couldn’t believe he was actually asking. He already knew Bobby hadn’t heard of the dude. Because they’d never met outside of Sword & Cross.

_“Don’t ring any bells. Why?”_

“No reason. There’s just a guy here that I thought looked really familiar. Guess not though.”

_“Alright, then. Well, you just make sure you’re taking care of yourself, you hear? I’m rootin’ for you, kid.”_

“Uncle Bobby," he said, sighing into the phone, "I gotta go. I'll call again as soon as—" But by then there was just the vague buzz of a dial tone in his ear. The phone itself had been rigged to cap each call at fifteen minutes. Now Dean saw the tiny timer blinking 0:00 on its base. Now he'd have to wait another two days to call. It shouldn’t seem like so long, but the time stretched out in his mind like an endless gulf. He didn’t even get to say goodbye. So much for his day getting better. He slammed the receiver down with a scowl, ignoring the tremor in his hands.

At least he didn’t have to go to some shitty group therapy session. The Philosophy of Religion class he was joining today would be easier, he hoped, then having to pretend not to stare at Castiel while the others talked about their problems. Maybe it would provide a sufficient distraction from how shit his day was.

Dean made his way to the classroom upstairs early, arriving to an empty room. Even the professor wasn’t there yet. For some reason, he expected to see the kind of seats he remembered from high school, the ones with the basket under the chair and the ridiculously small desk attached in the front. Instead, there were two long conference tables with the same uncomfortable, high-backed plastic chairs that they used in the cafeteria shoved underneath. Pulling the one furthest away from the door out from under the back table, Dean plopped into it and opened the notebook he carried with him to the first page.

It didn’t take long for him to wish he hadn’t come in early. The tip of his pen tapped impatiently against the blank white paper. Dean chewed on his lower lip, eyes flicking around the empty classroom until the landed on the chalk dust that had piled up at one end of the blackboard and he had an almost violent urge to bury his nose in the white powder and inhale deeply.

Time crawled slowly by, each tick of the clock on the wall pounding into Dean’s skull like a hammer. Relief came in the form of Anna and Gadreel walking through the door. They waved at Dean with smiles on their faces. Right behind them was Castiel. Dean tried for a smile and a small wave, not that it mattered. Cas didn’t bother to acknowledge his existence. He just took the seat furthest from Dean in the small room. Gadreel took the chair right next to him.

The sounds of small talk and laughter filled the air but Dean kept to himself and tried not to look as sour as he felt while they waited for the class to start. Gadreel didn’t speak -- apparently he could tell Dean was not in a chatty mood -- but his quiet presence made Dean feel calmer. A balding man with a plain, round face, probably in his early 60s, walked in last. He was dressed in a neat, professional black suit with a white button-down and a wide gold tie. He set the briefcase he was carrying down on the frontmost table, where there were no students and looked out at the class.

“I see we have a fresh face this evening,” he said, looking straight at Dean. “I’m Professor Zachariah Adler.”

Dean’s nodded acknowledgment appeared to be good enough for the professor, who turned away from him and asked the rest of the class for a paper they were supposed to have written.

“Alright,” Zachariah began, leaning against his table and facing the students with a professionally bored expression, “now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, who can tell me about the Great War between Heaven and Hell?”

“Lucifer rebelled against God and was sent to rule over Hell because of it. All sin on earth began with Lucifer.” Dean didn’t recognize the girl who spoke but that summed up about what he knew about it as well.

“It’s true that Lucifer rebelled against the Lord but he wasn’t alone. Every angel in the Host was forced to choose a side in the coming war. Most remained on the side of Heaven but not all. Some chose the side of the Lightbringer and they were sent to Hell with him. Others refused to choose and that angered God.” Professor Adler was staring at Dean, eyes boring straight through his skin and flesh to reach his soul.

“What happened to those angels?” Dean asked, unnerved by the professor’s gaze. The story struck a chord with him and he needed to know more. “Did they get sent to Hell?”

“No. They were also cast out but not to the Pit. They were made to walk the Earth among mortals for the rest of their days, or at least until they made their choice. Some of them stayed on the righteous path in the hopes that if they didn’t stray they would be allowed back into Heaven. Others were incensed by having been cast away and began doing Lucifer’s work. They sowed chaos and destruction, war, and spent their time leading humanity astray.”

“That sounds like they chose who they were going to fight for to me. Were they allowed to return to Heaven? The good ones, I mean.” Zachariah appeared pleased by Dean’s curiosity.

“They were not. You see, one angel fell in love. And when the time came for all of them to make their decisions, that angel chose his love. The angel’s lover was never given the opportunity to choose because, in his anger, God cursed them both. The earthbound angels would not be allowed to return until the lover was finally able to choose of their own volition. Some believe that those angels still wander among us today.”

It was a curious tale and as the class continued, it stuck in Dean’s mind like a thorn. Why? He wasn’t religious. Hell, he was pretty sure God didn’t exist, so why did he keep mentally turning the story over until class was over?

He skipped dinner and stayed in his room until it was time for movie night. When Dean made it to the rec room, the chairs had all been rearranged and there was a projector in the middle of the already half-full room. Gadreel caught his eye with an inviting wave, and Dean went up the aisle to take the empty chair next to him.

“Hey. Rough day?” Gad asked. Dean raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if there was a tattoo on his forehead or if he really had that little control over his face. “I saw you leaving the cafeteria at lunch and you didn’t seem very happy in Adler’s class.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Dean looked at his friend thoughtfully. His presence was as soothing as it was in the classroom earlier. “It was just a bad day all around and then when I called my uncle today. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I gotta wait for like two days now and it's just hard going so long without talking to someone you’re used to seeing every day.”

“If you like, you can have my phone times,” Gadreel offered with a smile. The way his fingers brushed against Dean’s arm so casually as he spoke was almost accidental. “I never use them anyway. I got no one to call.”

“I’ll think about it.” The way Dean’s fingers brushed against Gadreel’s arm was definitely not an accident.  “So, what’s the movie?”

“I don’t know, some chick flick.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I hate chick flicks. I just don’t understand the whole appeal of watching two people fall in love on a giant screen.”

“I think most people just wish they could find a relationship like the ones they see in the movies.”

Dean felt the spark of arousal as Gadreel gazed at him almost hungrily, waiting for his response. The last time someone looked at him that way, he got laid. “Well, I don’t know about you but I’d rather find a relationship like the ones I see in porn.”

Gadreel laughed hard and it was beautiful and so infectious that even in his black mood, Dean smiled. It almost -- _almost_ \-- made him forget about Castiel. Sliding a little closer to his friend, a tingling warmth shot through Dean as their knees knocked against one another and stayed there.

"But, seriously, Dean," Gad managed when his laughter finally faded, "You don't ever think about something? Not marriage, or whatever, but something?"  
  
Dean shifted his gaze to the ground in front of them as his cheeks flushed pink. He couldn't stop the image of Cas leaning against that wall near the garden from appearing in his mind. It was insane. Not only did he barely know the guy but Castiel wasn’t interested in him in the least.

"Nah, it's not for me." He wasn't sure if he was answering Gadreel's question or reminding himself that he and Cas were never going to be a thing. Fuck, why was he thinking about Cas when he was sitting here flirting with Gad?

Halfway through the sappy romantic comedy, Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to get out of there. Excusing himself, he told Gad he’d be back in a few and made his way out the door. To his surprise, Castiel was in the hallway, just a few yards away with Samandriel. They were standing so close together and Cas looked so relaxed and comfortable. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but somehow Dean felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He watched the two men share an embrace and tried to pretend his heart hadn’t sunk into his feet.

Dean kicked himself mentally. What right did he have to feel so rejected? It's not like Castiel had ever given him the time of day, so why did it matter that he was with Samandriel? Deciding he would apologize to Gad later, Dean trudged back to his room and said goodbye to that day. It was way past time for it to be over.


	5. Chapter 5

Anna showed Dean the gym on the initial tour she gave him but until he actually stepped inside, he hadn’t realized how small it was. Sword & Cross probably didn’t need anything bigger, especially since the martial arts classes were the only thing that seemed to take place in the room. There was an exercise room with weights and treadmills but it was separated from the gym itself. He knew almost everyone by now, so he recognized the faces that surrounded him. Anna and Gad were there and, because his luck couldn’t possibly be worse, Castiel was there, too.

When the instructor came in Dean wasn’t really paying attention to anything he said. He stood near Gadreel and tried to avoid staring at Cas. Fuck, why couldn’t he get the dude out of his head? Maybe a little match-up would distract him.

“Everybody, go ahead and start pairing off. New guy, you got any experience?” The instructor was tall and ridiculously skinny, with what seemed to be a permanent goofy grin on his face, and absolutely did not look like he should be teaching martial arts to anyone. But Dean knew better than to judge a fighter by the way he looked. Skill almost always trumped size in a match.

“Uh, yeah, I have a little bit of background,” Dean replied, shrugging nonchalantly. His experience wasn’t extensive, or professional, by any means. He just spent a lot of his time as a teenager punching people in the face. That was close enough, right?

“Fantastic! I’m Garth. I’m gonna pair you off with one of the more experienced students, so I can feel out how much you know.” He tossed Dean a pair of MMA style fingerless gloves and an unopened mouth guard. “Safety first!” He exclaimed brightly as Dean caught them.

Tearing the paperboard backing from the plastic, Dean shoved the mouthguard in against his teeth. It was uncomfortable but he ignored it as best he could and pulled the gloves onto his hands, securing them at the wrist. He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times, testing the give in the padding against his knuckles. Satisfied, he attempted to smile at Garth and gave him a thumbs up, unsure if could speak without the mouthguard falling out.

“Castiel, you’re gonna partner up with the new guy for some basic hand-to-hand. If he does okay, we’ll see how he does with the escrima.”

Dean’s body tensed. Castiel was going to be his partner? He might as well throw in the towel now. It sure as hell wasn’t going to help Dean relax. Even if it was just a sparring match, the adrenaline would be flowing, heightening his senses and responses. And he would be so close to Cas, every landed blow would mean touching him. Dean was stressed just thinking about it, he couldn’t imagine actually doing it would be less nerve-racking. Sighing, he resigned himself to it as Castiel silently took his place across from him and bowed. Dean followed suit, keeping his eyes locked on his sparring partner.

“Begin!” Garth shouted and everyone in the class was suddenly in motion. The sounds of combat filled the room.

Dean dropped into a familiar stance, his right foot slightly behind the left and about shoulder-width apart. He raised his hands just in time to block a hard jab from his partner. He threw his own jab, which Cas easily parried. They fell into a weirdly synchronous bout of punches, blocks, and kicks. Dean pretended to ignore how natural it felt to be near Cas, to spar with him. It felt practiced, like something they did together often. Which was clearly insane. Neither of them landed a hit but Dean had a strong feeling that Cas was going easy on him, at least until they knew what he was capable of. It went back and forth like that for a few minutes before Garth stopped them.

“I bet you’ve never had any traditional training, new guy?”

Dean pulled the mouthguard out, running his tongue across the front of his teeth and flexing his lips a bit. He absolutely did not watch the way the muscles in Castiel’s forearms flexed as he fisted and unfisted his hands. “My name is Dean. And no, but I’ve been around the block a time or two.”

“I can see that, Dean.” Garth watched him thoughtfully, scratching absently at his temple as Dean reinserted the plastic monstrosity into his mouth. “You hold your own pretty well even if you look like a sloppy amateur while you’re doing it. Let’s try the escrima and see how you hold up with that.”

Dean decided not to feel insulted by the critique and watched Garth cross the room to a large bin full of assorted practice weapons, mostly to avoid making eye contact with Cas. Garth dug around the bin for a moment and came back with two hard foam sticks that were about two feet long. Dean took his and held it aloft, testing the weight and flex of it. Given that the only weapons he’d ever swung at someone were beer bottles and baseball bats, he wasn’t even sure how to hold the damn thing.

He peered over at Castiel, who apparently knew exactly how to handle the stick. One foot slid effortlessly back, the opposite hand holding the escrima out in front of him. The other hand balled into a fist, crossing his chest just behind the stick. He looked strong, capable, and more than a little intimidating. Dean considered imitating him but if the point of this was for Garth to find out what he knew, he should probably just do whatever came the most naturally.

Dropping into a stance almost identical to the one he’d used for the hand-to-hand match, Dean held the stick out with his front arm, while keeping his back arm up and close to his chest, ready to strike should it become necessary.

“Alright, go!” Garth stepped back to give them a little more space.

Castiel moved quickly into Dean’s personal space, striking at his head with the stick while somehow managing to appear completely indifferent. Dean’s eyes widened as he brought his own weapon up just in time to parry the blow. He stumbled backward as Cas continued to advance. Efficient swings from his partner’s stick drove Dean back, keeping him off balance as he barely blocked the powerful strikes. Castiel’s stick thwacked against Dean’s thigh and he lost his footing, tumbling backward onto the mat.

“Maybe that’s enough--” Garth was cut off by Dean’s determined voice.

“No. I want to keep going.” Dean felt better than he had in weeks. His pounding heart pumped adrenaline through him, focusing him on the fight and pushing all thoughts of Sam, drugs, and drinking from his mind. His ever-present headache had vanished and for the first time in a very long time, he wanted to smile. He felt alive and he wasn’t ready to let go of it yet. The slack-jawed shock on Castiel’s face when he didn’t quit was just icing on the cake.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Dean closed his eyes and centered himself before dropping back into a fighting stance. It was the same stance he took before but somehow his feet felt like they were planted better, his grip on the escrima was stronger, and he felt far less awkward than it had the first time around. Castiel’s face fell back into its usual impassive mask and he kept his intense gaze on Dean as he fell into his own stance.

It was Dean that struck first this time, an exacting downswing of the escrima toward Castiel’s knee. He was surprised when he felt it connect and he advanced on his partner, swinging the stick again. His body moved on its own, without direction from Dean’s mind, as he beat Cas back effortlessly. How the hell was he doing this? It shouldn’t be possible. Dean knew nothing about stick fighting and Cas had already demonstrated that he was far more skilled in the art.

Their sticks came together with a dull thud and Dean was suddenly in two places-- two times-- at once. The gym at Sword & Cross was still there, Castiel was still in front of him. The grunts and groans of the other people sparring were faded but still audible. Simultaneously, Dean stood just off a forest path in a small grove of trees and he was surrounded by strange, hideous enemies bathed in dull, stagnant light. He could feel someone standing behind him, protecting his back from any attack, and he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was Castiel.

The bizarre juxtaposition was so jarring that Dean stopped in his tracks, escrima half-raised for a strike. His eyes moved from Castiel’s face--an oddly knowing look on it--to the weapon in his hand. It was no longer a foam stick but a heavy, blood covered makeshift cleaver. This was new, an experience Dean was having for the very first time. His flashbacks usually came in the form of dreams. It happened occasionally when he was fully awake but it was never like this. There was no more time to think about it.

He was being attacked, the advancing enemy swinging a sword toward him. It was a man but not a human man. Its teeth were viciously pointed, shoulders too wide and sharp, and waist too small to be human. Dean parried the enemy blade with his cleaver, countering with a hard right hook. Swinging his escrima at the right side of Castiel’s neck, he lobbed off the head of the creature that attacked him cleanly. A moment of victorious adrenaline sang through his veins but there was no time to savor the feeling as its body slumped to the ground.

Blocking attack after attack, Dean could feel the man at his back mirroring his own movements, fighting as hard as he was. He raised his stick to meet the swing of Castiel’s escrima, making it glance away harshly and countering with a strike to the ribs. Blood droplets spattered, flying from his blade as he disconnected his weapon from another fallen attacker.

Garth kept calling for them to end the match but Dean ignored it. He was fighting for his own existence and he was winning, beating back the enemies that attacked as sweat dripped down his face. His body screamed with the effort and the intense excitement of the kind of battle that ended in triumph or death overtook his senses. He reveled in it.

All at once, there were too many attackers. Dean was losing ground, only just fending off the swords that came at him from every direction. Castiel was advancing on him, bright blue eyes holding his through the flurry of blows that forced Dean back. He parried as many blows as he could, ignoring the pain in his side when Cas’s stick connected solidly with his ribs. The creature in front of him thrust its sword forward too quickly for Dean to knock it away. Dean could feel it as he looked down at his gut, watching the growing contrast of stark red blood seep into the fabric of his white shirt.

He struggled to regain his breath through the shock of the mortal wound, the cold metal lodged inside him. The cleaver slipped from Dean’s hand, clattering uselessly to the ground as his grip weakened. Both worlds existed in silent slow motion around him. He could still see Garth. His lips moved but Dean couldn’t make out the words. He was suddenly afraid, looking back to Cas’s bright blue eyes in search of some reassurance. Dean didn’t want to die but he couldn’t stop it. Castiel couldn’t stop it.

The creature put a hand on his chest, using him as leverage as it pulled its blade from its sheath in Dean’s belly. Dean fell back slowly, Cas following him down. He blinked as his back hit the floor and suddenly time moved at its usual rate, the bleak, enemy-filled forest disappeared and he was left with Castiel’s face above his. The rest of the class surrounded them, excited chatter filling the air. Dean’s body shook under Castiel, the fear and adrenaline still coursing through him. He took shallow, trembling breaths as he stared up at Cas.

Neither of them moved. Castiel’s hand was on Dean’s cheek, cradling his face as his frightened eyes roamed across it. Why was he afraid? Sweat dripped from his face, tiny droplets falling onto Dean’s skin and rolling to the floor and neither of them could look away from the other. Still panting from the exertion of the fight and the terror of his near-death experience, Dean’s eyes searched Castiel’s face for something, any indication of what the hell was happening.

There was recognition there and something else Dean couldn’t put his finger on. As he started to calm down, he became suddenly and painfully aware of their proximity. Castiel’s muscled body pressed into his own. Quivering lips hovered, slightly parted as Cas breathed heavily, audibly. Dean licked his own lips, trying to ignore the fervent urge to kiss him. How would he react? Would he return the affection?

Castiel blinked, finally breaking the eye contact. He pushed away from Dean almost frantically and took off from the room without a word to anyone.

Dean lay there for a moment longer, closing his eyes and trying to breathe deeply and slowly to get the storm of emotion tearing through him under control. Right at that moment, he was absolutely certain that whatever connection he felt between them was mutual. Despite the fact that he’d been a dick from the second they laid eyes on each other, Castiel felt it, too. Even though Dean had just experienced the most insane hallucination of his entire life, for the first time in ages, he felt clear-headed. Maybe he wasn’t as crazy as everyone thought. Maybe he wasn’t as crazy as he thought.

When he opened his eyes, Garth was leaning over him. The goofy grin was replaced with the most sincere worry Dean had ever seen. “What the hell was that? I thought you didn’t have any traditional training. Are you okay?”

“I’m alright,” Dean said, trying to assuage the gangly man’s concern. Though Garth didn’t ask any more questions, it did not appear that he was less troubled.

“Come on.” Garth offered Dean a hand. “You should get some water and take a break for a while.”

Dean took the hand and let Garth help him off the floor. The adrenaline was finally starting to wear off and Dean was wobbly. His legs felt like jello under him as they took on the task of holding his weight upright. He simply stood there for a moment, unsure if he would be able to walk on his own right away.

“The locker room is through there,” Garth said, pointing in the direction Cas had run off in.

Dean nodded, grateful the instructor wasn’t pushing for an explanation about what happened. He took a slow, unsteady step forward. Carefully measuring each step as he walked, Dean only hoped he wouldn’t topple over again. Gadreel called his name from somewhere behind him but Dean ignored it. His friend would almost certainly ask questions Dean didn’t have answers for. Not to mention he might ask questions about the intense moment with Castiel and Dean was quite certain he couldn’t handle that scrutiny right now.

When the locker room door closed behind him, Dean sagged against the wall. The more time he spent at Sword & Cross, the crazier things seemed to get. For whatever reason, he wasn’t really surprised by that. The strange thing was that for once, he didn’t want to drink the crazy away. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good, this lucid. His body was sore from his efforts during the sparring match/fight for his life but his head didn’t ache.

Locating the water fountain, he pulled the plastic mouthguard out of his mouth before bending over it and taking a long drink, focusing on the icy water washing over his tongue. He was parched and it felt so good. The whole experience took a lot out of him. Exhaustion washed over him as the dregs of adrenaline left him. He sat slowly down on one of the benches and rested, pulling the gloves off of his shaking hands. His knuckles were slightly swollen but not in particularly bad shape. He pushed the pain in his hands and body to the back of his mind and let it settle there.

By the time Dean made it back out of the locker room, the class was over and other students were stripping off their gear and heading for the door. Dean managed to avoid the questioning gazes of the instructor and his friends as he ducked out with the rest of the group, moving as quickly as his sore muscles would allow.

When he made it back to his room, Dean turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it and got in, letting the water beat against his muscles. Under the deluge, his muscles started to relax and the soreness was relieved. He stayed there until the water ran cold before he finally stepped out and toweled off. The sweat pants he threw on were soft and comfortable, and he stared longingly at his bed. He could use a nap. Glancing around the room, his eyes fell on Sam’s photograph. Dean still felt the pang of sadness he felt every time he saw it but he smiled at his little brother anyway. It was the first time since he arrived at the rehab facility that he didn’t feel guilty. He hoped this meant a turn of events for him.

His stomach rumbled and as much as he wanted to lay down, Dean knew he shouldn’t skip lunch after what he put his body through in the martial arts class. He was on his way to the cafeteria when he saw Castiel standing alone, just outside of what Dean assumed was his bedroom. He was disappointed that the door was closed. Seeing the inside might give him some more insight into Castiel.

There was a sizable bruise still forming on Cas’s exposed bicep from one of Dean’s strikes. It made Dean wince. Just how hard had he been swinging that thing? He approached slowly, feeling a near compulsive need to check on him and make sure he was okay. His heart thudded erratically in his chest again. If this kept happening, he was going to have a damned heart attack.

“Hey, Cas,” he said quietly, hands raised placatively in front him, like he was approaching a cornered animal. “I just wanted to apologize for earlier.” It was meant to be an apology for losing it when they were sparring but as the words left his lips, they felt like so much more than that. He was sorry for dying. He was sorry that Cas watched him die.

Castiel’s eyes met his and Dean felt his breath catch in his throat. Castiel’s face was as unreadable as ever but there were sadness and pain in his gaze. “No apology is necessary. You fought well.”

It was impossible to miss the gravity in Castiel’s voice. Like Dean’s apology, the response seemed to speak to more than just a sparring match that got out of hand. Did he know about Dean’s hallucination? Did he remember the fight in the forest? There was no way. It wasn’t real. It was Dean’s weird brain making him see things that weren’t there. His hand absently drifted to cover his abdomen, where the sword ran him through in the vision. And feel things. So realistically that it was difficult to separate hallucination from reality.

“This is going to sound insane, but have we met before?” Dean asked, unable to stop himself. “Before Sword & Cross, I mean. You just… seem really familiar.”

Castiel signed and looked away from him, silent for a long moment. Dean almost hoped he would admit he felt their connection, too. The connection that was more difficult to ignore every time Dean saw him. It felt like they knew each from another lifetime but that was insane. They had never met outside these walls and Cas would tell him so.

Cas did just that, looking him straight in the eye and telling him, "You have never in your life seen me before this week." He walked away then and Dean tried to pretend he believed it as he stared after Castiel.

Dean stumbled forward as someone’s shoulder connected with his back. He stifled the groan as a fresh wave of achy pain flooded his muscles. Turning, he saw the familiar sneer of Naomi.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Dean?” she asked condescendingly, getting into his personal space. “Didn’t go the way you planned?”

What the hell was her problem? It didn’t matter, Dean refused to be baited a second time. “Fuck off, Naomi.”

“You better watch your back, Winchester. All it takes is one bad decision and your life will burn again.”

Dean shoved past the crazy bitch as she laughed and didn’t bother to look over his shoulder to see if she was following him.

* * *

Gadreel watched the entire exchange from across the hallway. As Dean stalked away, Gad crossed over to where Naomi stood, grabbing her and pinning her to the wall with one hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Just having a little fun.” Naomi smirked cruelly.

Gadreel’s eyes narrowed and he stared coldly at her. “Stay away from him,” he ordered.

Naomi’s lips parted as she gasped in mock surprise. “Aw, is Gadreel in love again? Better remember whose on yo--”

Her words were cut short when Gadreel snapped his fingers and she tried unsuccessfully to draw in air as some invisible force tightened around her throat. Her eyes widened and she clutched at nothing, trying to break free and breathe. It didn’t work. Naomi shoved Gadreel and with the blink of an eye, he let her go.

“Back off, asshole,” she gasped between breaths before taking off in the direction of her room with Gad’s eyes on her until she disappeared around a corner.

* * *

Taking the plate containing a gigantic BLT and french fries from a warmly smiling Samandriel, Dean made his way into the kitchen. He didn’t want to stay in the open cafeteria where he would be subject to the prying eyes of anyone who knew what happened in the martial arts class that morning. More importantly, he didn’t want to deal with the possibility of running into Naomi again. She really had a hard-on for him and he had no idea why. He still needed to apologize to Charlie anyway. Fortunately, she was leaning against one of the stainless steel tables, eating her own sandwich when he arrived.

“Hey, Dean!” She said brightly around the bite of food in her mouth.

“Hey, Charlie. Do you mind if I eat back here today?” He gestured toward the table with his plate. He was surprised by how happy she was to see him after the way he’d treated her. “Listen, I was a real dick. I wasn’t upset with you and I shouldn’t have made you feel uncomfortable when you were just trying to help. So, I’m sorry.”

She smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “Water under the bridge. Now, come sit down. I’m happy to have some company.”

Nodding, Dean set his food on the table and pulled a stool over to it to sit with her.

“I’m guessing you’re hiding out to avoid questions about what happened this morning.” Charlie shoved a ridiculously long french fry into her mouth as she waited for him to answer.

Apparently new traveled fast. “Yeah. Well, I’m avoiding a couple of people in particular. The whole thing with Castiel is… weird.” Dean took a bite of his sandwich, thoughtfully regarding Charlie as he chewed. “Naomi’s got it out for me for who knows why.”

“Sounds awkward.”

“You have no idea,” Dean replied with a wry smile.

“You know, you can talk to me about it if you want to,” Charlie said, practically oozing sincerity. “I mean, it’s cool if you don’t want to. I just want you to know you can.”

Besides Gadreel, Charlie had been the only person here that openly offered him friendship and Dean felt the sudden urge to tell her everything. “Honestly? You’ll think I’m insane if I talk about it.”

“Dude, where do you think you are right now?” Charlie raised her right hand in a familiar Vulcan salute. “Try me. No judgment, I promise.”

“Alright, then.” Dean set what was left of his sandwich down and picked up a fry, popping it into his mouth and chewing slowly while he decided what exactly he was willing to share with Charlie. “Ever since I got here, since the first time I saw Cas… I don’t know, it's like we have this bond. It doesn’t make sense because I’d never seen him or met him before this place but I can’t seem to get past it.”

“Well, what does he have to say about it?” Charlie’s calm acceptance of his statement was encouraging. For once, he was talking to someone--being honest with someone--and he didn’t feel crazy. She certainly didn’t appear to think he was crazy.

“Well, he’s been a total douche since the first time he laid eyes on me.  But this morning was weird.” He hesitated for a moment, not really certain he should share the full extent of the situation that had occurred. “I have these… hallucinations sometimes. Like flashbacks or really vivid dreams or whatever. I had one while we were sparring and that’s why everything got all crazy.”

“Okay. What does it have to do with this connection you feel with the Heavenly hotty?”

Dean looked at Charlie, shocked into silence by her comment.

“What? I’m a lesbian, I’m not blind.”

It wasn’t really that. Dean wasn’t an idiot, anyone could see Castiel was ridiculously attractive. What really shocked him was that Charlie was taking him seriously. Even to his own ear, he sounded like he was having some kind of mental break but she just listened quietly and continued not treating him like a head case.

“I don’t know. I probably imagined it or whatever, but… when the flashback was over, I could have sworn that he felt it too.”

“The flashback or the connection?” Charlie asked seriously.

“Both, I guess? God, I sound crazy. It's just… I saw him out in the resident hall when I was on my way to get lunch and I stopped to talk to him.” Dean paused for a moment, chewing on his last french fry and swallowing it before he started to speak again. “I apologized for going all crazy and shit and just the way that he answered… it’s almost like he knew. Like he’d seen what happened in my hallucination. But then he turned around and said we never knew  each other before Sword & Cross and ran off when I asked him.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re crazy, necessarily. Although, hallucinations are a pretty good indicator of insanity,” Charlie joked, winking at him. “But as far as the connection you feel with him? That’s not entirely uncommon. Something like forty percent of people say they believe in soulmates or something like it. And those people claim to have felt something similar when they met their soulmate.” Dean gawked at her. Soulmates? There was no way that was a thing, and there was definitely no way that Castiel was his soulmate. Maybe she was just trying to make him feel better but he couldn’t even begin to think of a proper response to that. “I’m not saying that soulmates are a thing, Dean. Just that what you’re feeling isn’t crazy or even all that weird. People feel connected to random strangers all the time.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t say much else, just mulled over her words and the events of the last few days. Something niggled at the back of his mind. “It's not just Cas that I’ve had weird experiences with. I mean, the way Anna’s expression changed when she saw me for the first time totally threw me off and Gadreel... I was immediately attracted to him and I feel like I’ve known him for years. Those can be explained away, I guess. But Naomi? She attacked me, completely unprovoked, and… she knows things, Charlie. Things I haven’t told anyone.”

“Things that might be in your file?”

“Well… yeah, probably? But it's not like she would have access to that, right?”

“She shouldn’t, but Naomi isn’t exactly the best at rules or authority. It's more than conceivable that she broke into Crowley’s office and looked at your records.”

Dean thought about that, it would explain how she’d known about Sam. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

“See, not crazy.” Charlie smiled at him and glanced up at the clock. “Lunch is just about over, you should get going.”

“Okay,” he replied. He took his empty plate over to the big sink and dropped it in. Turning around, he looked at Charlie for a moment and said, “Hey, thanks for listening.”

“Anytime. And don’t worry about Naomi, she’s kind of a cunt to everyone.”


	6. Chapter 6

Fall in Georgia never failed to be stunning. They were far enough south not to be too cold but not so far that the leaves fell without turning color. In the urban forest of Savannah, the trees always displayed the hues beautifully. Dean happily hummed _Stairway to Heaven_ as he pulled a rake, gathering leaves into a pile and wishing Sword & Cross allowed personal electronics. Regardless, he was happy to be out on the lawn for community service today.

It was calming, doing simple yard work. He wasn’t alone, other residents did their own community service work and everyone kept to themselves. Taking some responsibility for his own environment felt surprisingly rewarding. It made him feel like he was taking his life a step in the right direction.

Allowing the simple work to consume him, Dean cleaned his area of dying foliage in far less than the required hour. He moved further into the trees ringing the garden and smiled as he continued raking and singing to himself.  
  
“Dean, look out!”

Anna’s voice came to him before he heard the creak behind him. He turned toward the deafening splintering of an oak tree falling before it's time. Wispy black smoke billowed malevolently around the trunk and Dean’s eyes went wide. No, not again. He tried to move but his body refused to respond.

Silent panic ripped through him as the tree fell toward him in slow motion. The clamorous thud of his heart against his ribs drowned out all other sound. The tree wasn’t huge but it was big enough to crush him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean thought it odd that he had time to think about that. It was so close. If he managed to make himself move, he could reach out and touch the bark.  
  
Something crashed into Dean’s side and the ground slipped from beneath his feet.

The tree flew from his line of sight in a blur of gold and red. Time sped forward to catch up with Dean. The next thing he felt was the sharp pain of impact with the ground and the crush of whatever had put him there. He couldn’t see the oak anymore, only hear the resounding crash as it hit the dirt where Dean was standing only moments before.  
  
He lay there atop the colorful leaves that littered the ground, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

Slowly, his brain began working properly again and Dean realized it was a who rather than a what that crashed into him, saving him being squashed to death by the toppling oak. He opened his eyes to see who saved him. Shock rippled through him when he was met by the sea blue of Castiel’s gaze.   
  
Despite the concern etched into his savior’s features and the sweat beading on his forehead, there was a softness in Castiel’s wide eyes. Some emotion Dean had never noticed before danced in them, familiar and foreign all at once. Even during that intimate moment with Samandriel in the hallway, Castiel didn’t look like this. Dean knew instinctively that whatever Castiel was feeling was for him alone.

Reminiscent of the aftermath of their sparring match, Dean’s body was pinned under the weight of Castiel’s and neither of them showed any inclination toward moving. They just stared silently into each other’s eyes for far too long to be normal. Dean blinked, trying to wrangle complete control of his thoughts from the adrenaline rush of his near-death experience.

That was when he saw them.

The wings towered over Castiel like shadows, dark but translucent. Dean’s eyes followed the outline of the silhouette as it wrapped inward, creating a protective envelope around the two of them. It was like their own little world, a bubble in which no one could disturb them. Was he hallucinating again? Upon closer inspection, Dean swore he could see the outlines of feathers, hundreds of them. He reached out involuntarily but before his fingers brushed against their silken softness, Castiel’s wings disappeared.

“You...uh… you really saved my ass, Cas,” Dean said, licking his lips, “Why did you do that?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed and his head tilted to one side like a confused puppy. “You deserve to be saved.”

Dean looked away, tears suddenly and inexplicably welling in his eyes. Sam deserved to be saved. Dean deserved whatever he got. Clearing his throat, he said, “Yeah. Uh, sure.”  
  
Castiel opened his mouth like he was going to say something else. Instead, his face returned to the intimately familiar hard, impassive expression and clamped his mouth shut. Pushing himself up off of Dean, he walked away quickly and without looking back.

Dean sat up slowly, watching Castiel walk away next to Balthazar, who peered over his shoulder with an apologetic smile. Castiel kept his eyes forward and every step he took away from Dean made him feel more and more freakishly alone.

“Oh my god, Dean! Are you okay?” Anna asked, running toward him with Samandriel hot on her heels. Concern creased her forehead as she reached down to help Dean up.

He nodded glumly, tearing his eyes away from the spot where Castiel’s back disappeared around a corner. Letting Anna and Samandriel each grab hold of one arm, Dean stood shakily. His body was still recovering from the shock of almost dying and he was unsure of his footing so he held onto to Anna gratefully.

“Come on,” she said, “I’ll walk you to the infirmary so Lisa can check you out.”

Dean shook his head and tried for a smile. “No, that’s really not necessary. I’m fine. Besides, my community service hour isn’t over for another fifteen minutes.”

“I’m sure Crowley will find it in his heart to give you a pass for today.” Anna smiled wryly and tugged him along toward the door.

Twenty minutes later, Dean was walking out of the clinic alone. Although the nurse determined that he was relatively unscathed, she gave him a pass on the rest of the day’s scheduled activities and demanded that he take the time to relax.

It didn’t take long in the quiet of his room for Dean’s thoughts to return to the events of the day. The inky clouds of black that hung around the tree as it fell, intent on crushing the life from him, stuck in his mind’s eye. They were like heralds of destruction, appearing to Dean every time something horrible happened in his life. Just another thing to make him feel like he was losing his mind. This was the first time they appeared since the fire that took Sam.  

His judgment had been clouded by his desire to escape the bad luck that pursued him, making Dean foolishly hope the shadows were gone for good. Fresh guilt washed over him when his eyes landed on Sam’s, forever stuck in the glittering happiness of a single photograph. At least this time no one else got hurt. It was a small consolation.

He felt himself spiraling, falling into a familiar despair that only led to one thing. Rather than lay there and wallow, letting himself be overcome by the habitual reliance on one substance or another, Dean made his way to the library.

It was gargantuan when compared to other rooms at Sword & Cross, the walls lined with shelves so Dean was almost completely surrounded by books when he stepped inside. Massive bookcases were set up in neat rows with enough space between them for two or three people to walk. Being encompassed by walls of paperbacks and hardcovers was immediately soothing. He roamed aimlessly, letting his fingers slide across the spines as he made his way through the aisles. When Dean was a teenager, before he started drinking, he used to hide out in the shell of one of the many junk cars on the lot of Singer Salvage and read Vonnegut novels when he had a shitty day.

Dean didn’t share his enjoyment of reading with most of the people in his life. It was comforting, a reminder of better days, and he hoped to spend more time in the library during his stay. There were comfortable looking armchairs set up in pairs near the back wall and in the center of the space was a single wooden pedestal. It was the kind that usually held a gigantic, old dictionary at public libraries but the tome that sat on it looked to fancy to be a simple reference book.

As he approached the podium, Dean saw that it was bound with soft leather and engraved with a script Dean didn't recognize. The strange dots and curves of the letters called out to him, and he knew somehow the foreign words were meant for him. He trailed his fingers down the cover, tracing the graven images of angels locked in battle with demons, lingering over the face of an angel that felt particularly familiar, though he didn't know why. He opened the cover and his nose filled with the scent of aged paper. The ink, probably homemade given how old the book was, bled around the handwritten symbols ever so slightly. It made the unknown words look soft and welcoming. Dean wished he could read this, whatever the language was. He was certain he was meant to.  
  
"It's Enochian," an older man's voice came from behind him, "the language of the angels."

Dean startled. He thought he was alone in the library. Turning, he recognized the professor from the religion class he’d started taking. “Professor Adler, what are you doing here?” The question leaped forth like a paranoid accusation in his surprise. Fortunately, his teacher seemed not to notice.

The older man smiled politely and said, “I volunteer my time in the library here sometimes. When the residents bring back the books they’ve borrowed, they don’t usually put them back on the shelf. And Sword & Cross doesn’t have a full-time librarian, so here I am.” Professor Adler spread his hands in front of him, gesturing toward the surrounding shelves.

“Can you read this?” Dean asked, turning back toward the ancient book and carefully flipping another page. The illustrations and foreign lettering were beautiful, carefully crafted by whomever had written the volume.

“Unfortunately, no,” Zachariah said, coming to stand next to Dean at the pedestal. “I wish I could but Enochian is very much a lost language in both its written and spoken forms.”

“Oh.” Dean didn’t know what else to say and he was already consumed as he continued to flip silently through pages and pages of text he was sure he needed to read--to understand--but was unable to. Halfway through the book, he gave up with a frustrated sigh. No amount of staring would help him decipher the dead language. Returning the tome to its original closed position, Dean realized he was alone again and wondered when Professor Adler left.

Stomach growling, he glanced down at his watch and realized he’d been peering at the illegible pages of the book for nearly an hour. No wonder he was hungry. Dean left the library and headed for the probably already crowded cafeteria. Smiling gratefully, he took his tray from Charlie and looked around for a table where he could eat in relative peace. He already knew from experience that word traveled fast here but he still felt unprepared for the number of eyes that were on him as he crossed the dining room. Taking a seat at the empty corner table, Dean tried to make himself as invisible as possible. It didn’t help and he could still feel the stares boring into him, though he ignored it to the best of his ability.

His attention was caught by a waving hand. It belonged to Gadreel, who was beckoning for Dean to join him. He hesitated for a moment before standing and making his way toward the door leading outside. The garden was significantly less crowded than the cafeteria and Dean was grateful to escape the prying eyes as he followed Gad to one of the picnic tables.

“So,” Gadreel said with an easy smirk. “You’ve had an eventful day.”

Despite himself, Dean smiled. “What, that tree thing? No big deal. Happens all the time.” He shoved a too-big forkful of meatloaf into his mouth and chewed slowly as Gad laughed.

“How often exactly do handsome strangers have to save you from heavy falling objects?”

A surge of jealousy shot through Dean, though he couldn’t be sure exactly who he was jealous of. He stuffed it down as far as it would go. “I had a dream once where my brother had to save me from a falling piano like a hundred times in a row if that counts.”

“Note to self, keep Dean away from anything that might fall out of the sky.” Gadreel’s rested a hand on Dean’s thigh.

Somehow, Dean managed to keep his composure as his breath hitched in his chest. Clearing his throat, he asked. “What about you? How was your day?”

“Well,” Gad replied around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Haven’t met the man on the pale white horse yet, so I guess today was an alright day.”

“Yeah, I feel you there.” Dean leaned into Gadreel’s side, letting the warmth that radiated from him seep into his bones, feeling lighter than he had all day. The hand resting on his thigh tightened, a reassuring squeeze, comforting Dean.

He enjoyed their easy banter and conversation through the rest of the meal until he caught a glimpse of the snake on Gadreel’s arm. Dean could swear the damn thing moved. He was sure the first time he saw it was wrapped in a circle, biting its own tail like the world serpent, Ouroboros. Now it stretched leisurely, straight up the inside of Gad’s forearm. Given that Dean’s mind was currently more intent on playing tricks than ever, he did his best to ignore it but dread filled his gut every time it came into view. Dean gestured at the snake and asked, “What’s that tattoo?”

“Ah, I don’t like to talk about it much. It's something from my past.” A shadow crossed Gad’s face and the easy smile Dean was used to fell from his lips. “Perhaps one day I will have it removed.”

“Yeah, you should definitely consider that, dude. It’s creepy as fuck,” Dean said, trying and failing to restore the lighthearted tone of their conversation. He hoped Gad would take it as a joke but for once his friend didn’t smile. He cast his eyes away from Dean, staring darkly off into the empty air in front of them. Dean looked down at his empty plate and sighed. “Well, I’m gonna go. I’ll see you around.”

Standing, he grabbed his empty tray and made for the door, but only made it a few steps before he felt a large, strong hand tighten around his arm. “Wait,” Gadreel said as Dean turned to face him. They were close, so close that Dean could feel Gadreel’s breath against his skin. It reminded him of the intense moment they shared the day they met. Just as he had then, Dean knew he should back away but he didn’t move.

Gadreel leaned forward, capturing Dean’s lips with his in a searing kiss. His arms wrapped around Dean and one hand traced the line of his spine to the nape of his neck. It was quick and passionate, and Dean’s eyes fluttered shut as he responded in kind, pulling Gad closer so their bodies were slotted together.

Then Gadreel pulled away, leaving Dean breathless. A fresh wave of guilt washed over Dean when he opened his eyes and found himself staring into bright, hungry green eyes. His short-circuited brain expected the deep, ocean blue of Castiel’s earnest gaze. Fuck, he was so gone on the guy.

Gadreel smiled softly, brushing the pad of his thumb across Dean’s flushed cheek. “I’m glad you didn’t die.” His hands dropped away and he turned, walking into the cafeteria and leaving Dean alone there to catch his breath.

If even the most pleasant distraction couldn’t keep Dean’s mind off Castiel, he didn’t know why he thought spending more time by himself was going to do it. With nothing to do, his brain raced back to Cas. One moment, the man pretended Dean didn’t exist and the next he was risking his life to save Dean. And the way Castiel looked at Dean when there were on the gym floor after their sparring match, the abject fear and pain? There was definitely something there. Dean knew and now he was almost certain that Castiel knew it, too. Not that he would ever admit it.

Dean shook his head. He was pining after Castiel like a lovesick teenager. It made no sense. For all Dean knew about him, Castiel could be a serial killer but no matter how hard Dean tried to redirect his thoughts, he remained caught between the all-consuming need he felt to know exactly what the hell was going on and the weird emotional attachment to a man he barely knew. Alone in his room, Dean was anxious and lost, spiraling back into the depths of his own broken mind. His skin itched and all he wanted was relief that only ever came in the form of getting fucked up and burying himself in a beautiful stranger.

Scratching his arm absently, he checked the clock to make sure there was still time before curfew and left his room. Dinner was over but he hoped Charlie would still be in the kitchen. In the short time they’d known each other, the woman had managed to become a close friend and a beacon of hope.

“Hey, Charlie?” Dean called as he swung the door open. “You in here?”

“Back here!” She replied and Dean followed the sound until he got to the very back of the prep area to see her sitting at a table with a deck of cards. Charlie looked up at him with a wry grin and twinkling eyes. “Hey! Heard you almost died today.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, somehow that keeps coming up. Don’t really wanna talk about it anymore.” Eyes darting around the room, Dean found another stool and pulled up to the table next to her.

“Understandable. Glad you didn’t, though. Die I mean.”

“Hmm, me too.” He leaned his head against his fist and watched as Charlie collected the cards from the solitaire she'd been playing when he arrived. “Today has been such a fucking weird day. Stupid tree almost crushed me. Gadreel kissed me. Cas is as confusing as ever.”

“Things have certainly been exciting around here since you arrived. I don’t even need to watch TV anymore. You’re like my own personal soap opera,” she joked, laughing as Dean rolled his eyes and shot her a well-practiced and perfectly crafted bitch face. “Let’s play some Blackjack. It’ll help keep your mind off things.”

“I seriously doubt that, but sure. Why not?” Dean waited patiently as she dealt the cards. He looked down at the two of diamonds and four of hearts and sighed. “Hit me.”

Charlie reached over and punched him lightly on the arm, making him laugh. “Couldn't help myself.”

They focused on the game for a while, laughing at each other's stupid jokes. Charlie was right, it did distract him and after a few hands, Dean felt more like himself. It was nice to do something _normal_ and be around someone that didn’t make him feel like he was going insane. Charlie was better at Blackjack than Dean expected and he soon lost count of how many hands he lost.

“Are you counting cards?” he teased after another loss.

Charlie’s mouth dropped open in feigned mortification as she leaned back and splayed a hand across her chest. “Me? I would never do such a thing!”

“I guess you’re just that good then,” Dean replied with a wink.

“So, do I get details about Gadreel kissing you?” she asked with intentional nonchalance as she shuffled the cards. The skill with which people in this place got him to talk about his feelings was unnerving.

“There isn’t much to say about it, honestly.” Dean avoided eye contact by watching the cards fall onto the table as Charlie dealt them. “We ate dinner together in the garden, I stuck my foot in my mouth, and then when I was leaving he stopped me and kissed me.”

Charlie snorted. “Okay, I think you might be misunderstanding what I’m looking for when I ask for details. Was it good? Did you like it? Do you want to do it again?”

“It was great.” Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making it stand straight up. “It would have been better if I had been thinking about Gadreel. Now I just feel guilty and I don’t know whether it’s because I was thinking about Castiel or because I was kissing someone that isn’t Castiel. Both, probably.” He looked up at her. “God, what the hell is wrong with me, Charlie?”

“You’ve really got it bad for Castiel, don’t you?” Charlie put her cards down and reached over to cover one of Dean’s hands with her own. “Is that why you’re confused about him? Or is there more?”

“I don’t know. He’s an enigma. He risked his own ass to save my life this morning. And the way he looked at me? It was like he thought I was the most important person in the world or something.” Dean’s fingers drummed against the tabletop as he spoke.

“Don't you want him to look at you like that?”

“What? No! Yes. I don't know. It's confusing as hell, Charlie. You can't look at a guy like that and then just take off without a word or any kind of acknowledgment or whatever! We had a moment.” He sighed. “I sound like a crazy person.”

“Maybe a little.”

“And then the whole Gad thing on top of that and it’s all just a mess.” Dean shook his head. When did this become his life?

“Does Gadreel look at you like you’re the most important person in the world?” Charlie asked, watching Dean thoughtfully.

He thought about it for a moment. “No. There’s definitely something there but it’s not the same. It’s less… intense. I don’t know why. I mean, he’s like the polar opposite of Castiel. Gad’s been nothing but kind to me since I got here, and he’s funny and hot as hell. But…”

“He’s not Castiel,” Charlie finished for him.

“Yeah. I just feel like I’m missing something. If I knew more, maybe I would be able to get past it.”

“So… I told you I work in records, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well…” Charlie’s voice was hushed and she leaned toward him excitedly.  “God, I hope you know I like you. I may have taken the liberty of locating the file of one Castiel Novak.”

“That’s a little creepy and definitely unethical, but I’ll bite. What did you find?” Dean asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Well, that’s just it, Dean,” she said. “There was nothing to find.”

“What do you mean nothing?”

“I mean beyond what we already know, his file is basically empty. The only new thing I learned is that he grew up in an orphanage outside of Macon.” Charlie shook her head. “It's weird. Like, really weird. So, I kept looking through the folders, you know, to see if maybe there was a second file on him or something.”

“Why would there be a second file?” Dean asked, perplexed and more than a little weirded out by the lack of information. “Is that normal?”

“No, but humans aren’t perfect. Things get lost, misfiled, whatever. Sometimes if you can’t find a file, you just make a new one. Anyway, it gets weirder.”

Dean wasn’t sure how that could possibly be the case, but he waited for Charlie to continue.

“There were several files with no information in them, like Cas’s. They all arrived within days of each other and they all seem to know each other from before.”

“Who?”

“Anna, Gadreel, Naomi.” Charlie was talking faster with every word, her excitement taking over. “Balthazar and Samandriel, too. There could be more, I don’t know, I stopped looking. It's like there’s some weird conspiracy going on!”

He should have been surprised, but with the exception of Balthazar and Samandriel, everyone she mentioned was a constant source of odd interactions for Dean. It was clear they all knew something he didn’t but no one was keen on sharing, not even those he counted among his friends. It was all somehow related; the way Anna’s face turned sad and somber for a split second every time she looked at him, Naomi’s attack in the hallway, the sick feeling in Dean’s stomach whenever he saw Gadreel’s tattoo, and even the Enochian book in the library felt somehow connected. And Dean knew without a doubt that whatever was going on, Castiel was at the center of it.

The gears turned in his mind, trying to make some kind of sense of this new information. It was frustrating as hell, like trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together without all the pieces. “Thanks, Charlie.”

“No problem, Dean.” Charlie hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Listen, I might be able to dig up something more if you need me to.”

“No, you’ve done more than enough for me. I don’t want you to risk your job but I appreciate the offer.”

Charlie was about to say something in response when they both heard a door open. Dean cursed himself under his breath for how high he jumped. It was the brunette girl from the front desk, Dorothy.

“Ready to go, Charlie?” she asked, sweeping past Dean and bending to kiss her girlfriend. He smiled but didn’t say anything.

“Sure thing!” Charlie grabbed her jacket off one of the pegs on the wall behind her and slung it over one arm. “See you later, Dean!”

He waved as they walked past him and then headed out the kitchen doors himself. It was getting close to lights out anyway, so Dean tried not to be disappointed. As he passed by one of the large windows in the cafeteria, he thought he saw Castiel sitting on the edge of the fountain with the pad and pencil that he carried everywhere he went. Dean thought he should remind Castiel that curfew was approaching and was not at all driven by an urge to talk to the man when he made his way to the door. When he stepped outside, the garden was empty. He looked around but there was no one.

Dean must have imagined it. He went back inside and headed straight to his room, pointedly avoiding the itch to look out any of the windows he passed.


	7. Chapter 7

_Dean was sitting on a rough pew, wearing a long black robe, in a tiny church in the middle of nowhere. It was abandoned and had been for at least fifty years. It was the only place he could be alone, sort through the jumble of confused thoughts that were part of his life now. He was running out of time to figure it all out. The clock was ticking toward… what? Dean didn’t know but desperation drove him to the old church._

_Standing, Dean’s feet fell heavily against the dilapidated wood floor as they carried him slowly toward the altar. It seemed miraculously untouched by the years of dust, dirt, and general disrepair that permeated the rest of the building. There was nothing atop it. Everything was taken from the church before it was abandoned or perhaps looters had taken whatever was left behind. It didn’t matter, no object was required for prayer._

_Dean knelt slowly in front of the altar, making the sign of the cross before clasping his hands in front of him and resting his forearms against it. Would God hear him? He didn’t know. Faith had never been his strong suit, though he hid it well. His eyes closed and he bowed his head, opening his mouth to call upon God for guidance._

_“Heavenly Father, I pray for direction. I don’t know which path to walk. Pl--”_

_“Dean, what are you doing?” a familiar voice interrupted and Dean opened his eyes, looking over his shoulder to see Gadreel._

_“Praying. What does it look like?” Dean barely wondered how Gadreel found him or how he got there so quickly before he saw Castiel running through the door. Apparently, he couldn’t even be alone in the middle of nowhere._

_“Dean, please,” Castiel started, “this is a bad idea.”_

_Dean shook his head, turning to sit with his back against the altar. How could a prayer, to a God that may or may not exist or be listening, be a bad idea? What difference did it make?_

_“You’re out of time, Dean. You have to choose,” Gadreel said almost frantically._

_The ground suddenly shook beneath them and a shower of dust and grime fell from the rafters and covered the three of them. This was it. The moment was now. Dean had to choose or…_

_His eyes darted back and forth between Gadreel and Castiel. He needed more time. The decision was too important, too great to be made so quickly._

_“Make your choice,” Castiel pleaded, “or you will die.”_

_“This will never be over until you choose, Dean,” Gadreel added._

_A loud crack sounded above them and Dean looked up to see--_

A touch on his arm startled Dean awake and he clutched at the copy of _Slaughterhouse-Five_ that tumbled down his chest as he sat up. His eyes were unfocused from napping and all he recognized were two bright blue eyes in front of him. Castiel. What was Cas doing in his room? Dean blinked a few times, willing away the weariness until he remembered he wasn’t in his room. He was in one of the libraries comfortable armchairs reading and he must have fallen asleep.

“Cas?” Dean rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe his sleepiness away. “What’s up?” The dream still tugged at the edges of his consciousness, begging further examination, but he pushed it aside for the moment to focus on the man before him. The man who’d been doing his best to avoid any social contact with Dean since he arrived but was now waking him up like they were old friends. Just another bullet point to add to the list of ways Cas confused him.

Castiel didn’t answer, just sat in the armchair next to Dean’s and held out an orange like an olive branch. Dean avoided the entrancing blue eyes that bored into him intensely, some hidden emotion burning within them. He looked at Cas's outstretched hand and tentatively reached for the offered fruit.

"Thanks." Dean focused his attention on the orange as much as he could, still watching out of the corner of his eye as Cas shifted restlessly on the chair.

"Listen," Cas started nervously, "I have been a real jerk to you since you got here. I want to apologize."  
  
Dean looked over at him, surprised. He wasn’t sure how he imagined this conversation going but he damn sure wasn’t expecting an apology.   
  
"Yeah, you've been a dick." He split his now peeled orange in half and separated a wedge to pop into his mouth. "This whole time, I've really just wanted to get to know you. And then you go and dive under a falling tree to save me. But every time I feel like there might be a moment when I can actually talk to you, you run away.

"It’s.... complicated." Cas was shifting uncomfortably on his chair. There was a long, pregnant pause as Dean waited for him to elaborate. "I... had a serious heartbreak. I’ve been in an on-again, off-again relationship with this person for years--so long that I don’t remember being with anyone else. Every time I meet this person it ends badly. But I have a hard time moving past it.”  
  
"I get that. But I can't get it out of my head," Dean said, popping another wedge into his mouth and wiping away the dribble of juice that escaped as he bit into it. "This feeling that I know you. That I've known you for a while. There’s something here, Cas. Between us. I know there is. You are so... familiar. Even when you're being an asshole, being near you, it feels right. Like I've been doing it forever. I can't accept that we've never met or that we don't know each other."

"Haven't we been through this already?" Dean looked over at Cas, unsurprised by his response until a smirk broke the usual harshness of his countenance."I'm flattered that you feel like we have this connection, really. But you don't have to make up some weird soulmate bullshit to get a guy's attention."

Dean hesitated, wanting to push the issue, but Castiel was finally willing to at least be in the same room as Dean and he definitely didn’t want to screw that up. So, he let it go and backed away from his internal hailstorm of emotion into something more comfortable. He became the Dean that could go to any bar in any town and leave with anyone he wanted to.

“So, I have your attention, then?” Dean flirted with a smirk.

“Not just mine, Dean. You have the attention of many.” Castiel’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and a familiar feeling of guilt settled over Dean as his cheeks flushed. So, Cas knew about the kiss. Not that Dean should be surprised. It happened days ago, everyone probably knew by now. Should he apologize?

“How, uh, how did you end up in this place?” he asked instead. “I mean, what’s left of my family convinced me this is where I need to be but you don’t have any family, right?” Dean regretted his words immediately upon the surprised widening of Castiel’s eyes. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to know that. “What? People talk.”

Castiel raised a suspicious eyebrow at Dean but appeared to accept the explanation without further questioning. “It’s like I said. I had a heartbreak and ended up here.” Apparently, straight answers were not going to be a thing.

“Guess you should have taken a left turn at Albuquerque,” Dean replied sardonically.

Castiel’s head tilted to one side, like it had when Dean asked him why he saved him from the tree. “I don’t understand that reference.”

Dean shook his head and sighed. “Listen, I hate to cut this short now that you’re being decent and all, but I have to go see Dr. Tran. Catch up with you later?” Dean stood and Cas nodded with a faint smile as he made his way down the aisle to put the Vonnegut novel back in its rightful place on his way out.

“Come in,” the doctor said when Dean rapped his knuckles against the frosted glass window of the door. He turned the knob and let the door swing open enough for him to pass through it before letting it swing shut behind him. “Dean, have a seat. How are you today?”

“Well, the last couple of days have been comparatively uneventful,” Dean replied, taking his usual chair. “So, I’m feeling pretty good.” He was assigned a couple of extra sessions after the tree incident, just to make sure he stayed on track, and Dean was surprised by how much he found himself opening up to the doctor. They were even on a first name basis now.

“That’s great,” Dr. Tran said with a sincere smile. “I know that uneventful days can be just as bad as action-packed days sometimes. What about cravings?”

“A few, but I’ve been able to distract myself so far. Spending time in the library helps a lot.” Dean spent most of his free time reading, even doing homework for his college courses, in the comfort of the library’s chairs. It really did help divert his thoughts from drugs. That it helped him avoid Gadreel was secondary, at least that’s what he told himself.

“I’m very pleased with your progress, Dean. Have you had any more dreams?”

“No, not recently.” Dean felt guilty for lying to Kevin. “Nothing like the dreams you’re asking about anyway.”

Dr. Tran’s eyes narrowed slightly. It was clear he didn’t believe Dean but he didn’t push it. “Is there anything else that you want to talk with me about?”

Dean hesitated for a moment. Wasn’t the whole point of therapy to talk about your problems? It didn’t stop him from actively avoiding the uncomfortable subjects of Castiel or Gadreel. Or Sam. He still wouldn’t talk about Sam. “No. I’m in a pretty good place right now.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. It’s important for your recovery that you acknowledge your own progress. You also need to remember that it’s okay to have bad days even when you are in a good place.”

When the session drew to a close, Dean left Kevin’s office and the rest of the day went by in a relative haze. His mind was continuously drawn back to that morning’s dream. If Castiel hadn’t woken him at that exact moment, what would he have seen next? Deep in his bones, he knew. He could almost remember. Figuring out what was going on, putting together the puzzle pieces, was the only way the dreams would ever stop.

While it was nice to know that Castiel was actually interested in Dean in some way, their talk wasn’t really helpful. He needed more information, which he wasn’t likely to get from Cas. At least not unless Dean told him about the dreams. He could imagine how that conversation would go. _Hey, so I know you just started speaking to me but I’ve been having weird ass dreams about you since we met._ No, Dean definitely wasn’t ready for that. Castiel wasn’t even receptive to the idea that they might know each other, so who’s to say he’d give Dean any insight even if he knew about the dreams? It wasn’t going to happen.

Dean needed to take matters into his own hands.

* * *

“We need to keep an eye on Dean,” Samandriel said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“What’s the point in that?” Balthazar asked, leaning back in his chair and looking at the cards in his hand. “We all know how this ends.”

“Things seem different this time.” Anna shook her head, tossing a card onto the pile in the middle of the table. “Maybe it could end differently this time.”

“Anna’s right, something has changed. No one has ever actively tried to kill him before.” Samandriel squinted at his cards before choosing one to add to the pile. “We all know the tree wasn’t an accident.”

“So, what?” Balthazar quickly reached over, slapping the pile of cards with two kings on top just before Anna. “It doesn’t matter if someone actually going after him this time. The two of you need to face the facts. Dean is going to die and there’s not a damn thing you, or Cassie, or Gad can do about it.”

Samandriel sighed as Balthazar dragged the cards to his side of the table.

* * *

Dinner ended about an hour before Dean went to the kitchen knowing Charlie would be there alone. His awareness of her schedule was really starting to come in handy. He was going to need her help.

“Charlie, I need you to help me find more information on Castiel.” He grabbed a stool, slid it over and plopped down onto it unceremoniously.

“Hi, Dean! I had a great day! Thanks for asking,” Charlie said, her glare falling on him without any malice. “I don’t know what else there is to find. There’s nothing else in records, that’s for sure. I already checked. Twice.”

"There's something about him, Charlie." Dean was exasperated. He felt like the odds were stacked against him. But he had to find out. It was a driving need. "I know him. It sounds crazy, but I know it’s true. He can deny it all he wants but I feel it in my bones.  We are connected somehow."

Charlie stared at him and shook her head. “I just don’t know what you’re wanting me to do here, Dean. Like I said, there’s nothing in his file besides that orphanage.”  
  
"I don't know, Charlie. There has to be something. Some way for me to find out more about him,” he implored. He wasn’t sure what she could do for him but he couldn’t do this alone. He didn’t want to do this alone and she was the only person Dean truly felt he could rely on.

Charlie sighed, clearly resigning herself to helping Dean again. “Well, the next place to look would be the orphanage. There are computers in the library. Start there.”

“Well, I can’t exactly just go there in the middle of the day and hope doesn’t walk up behind me, Charlie,” he said sarcastically. Dean could sneak out of his room and go to the library after lights out and pray he didn’t get caught, but the whole thing would be a helluva lot easier if he had help.

“Fine. You’re so lucky to have me.” Charlie rolled her eyes. “Listen, I don’t have access to the library after hours, I’m gonna have to tell Dot.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Are you kidding me?” She shot him a wide grin. “She’s the worlds biggest conspiracy theorist. She’ll be all over this.”

Dean considered her words for a moment. He trusted Charlie, so if she trusted her girlfriend then he guessed he was okay with it. Not to mention that if he wanted to get into the library, he didn’t have much choice. “Okay. We meet at the library door at midnight.”

“Can’t wait,” Charlie said with a genuine smile. She was absolutely right. Dean was lucky to have her and he knew it. He went straight to his room, set an alarm, and laid down to sleep until it was time. For the first time since he’d arrived at Sword & Cross, Dean didn’t dream.

* * *

For some reason, Dean was surprised to see the halls were dimly lit after curfew. It was just enough to help him find his way to the library as he padded barefoot through the corridors. Charlie and Dorothy were already there waiting for him when he arrived. They nodded silent greetings to each other and Dorothy pulled out a ring of keys that would make any janitor jealous. When she located the right one, she slid it silently into the lock and turned it.

The door swung open silently on its well-greased hinges and they walked into a small room just off the main library that Dean hadn’t noticed before. Two long tables lined the walls, each with three monitors atop them. They went to the first one on the left and Charlie sat in the chair in front of it, Dean and Dorothy crowding in behind her so they could see the screen. The computer was already on and in seconds, Charlie was online, pulling up Google and typing the name of the orphanage into the search bar. _Gad S Johnson Orphanage._

Google was usually an indelible fount of information but in this case, Charlie couldn’t find much information on the place. It was founded in 1896 and didn’t appear to be open anymore. No matter how she tried to modify the search she couldn’t find anything.

“I was afraid this might happen. Most of the old orphanages like that got shut down during the Civil Rights Movement because of the way they treated minorities,” Charlie whispered, turning back to look up at Dean.

“Shit. Well, can we just google his name or something?” Dean ran a hand through his already disheveled hair.

“That might catch something, Char,” Dorothy said, “it's not like Castiel is a real common name. How many could there be?”

“It's worth a shot.” Charlie turned back to the computer and typed his full name into the search bar.

“His middle name is James?” Dorothy asked skeptically. “That doesn’t fit with Castiel at all.”

“That’s what his file says.”

“Can we just see if there’s anything there, please?” Dean could hear the annoyance in his voice, but as far as he was concerned this wasn’t a goddamned sleepover. They weren’t there to have a pillow fight, braid each other’s hair, and gossip about the hot guy.

“There’s actually a lot here,” Charlie said, squinting at the screen. Dean scanned the search results as she scrolled through them. She wasn’t kidding. Apparently, there were quite a few Castiel James Novaks and most of the search results popped up somewhere in Georgia. Maybe it was a family name. Several of them had birth and death dates that stretched back to revolutionary times.

“Pull up the images,” Dean said. It seemed unlikely but maybe there would be something there. Anything was worth the old college try at this point. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of pictures. Charlie started slowly scrolling through them, clicking the ‘show more images’ bar at the bottom of the screen several times before one of them caught Dean’s attention. He pointed at it and said, “Click that one.”

The picture blew up to cover most of the screen and Dean found himself speechless. It was a photograph of Castiel--his Castiel--in a suit with a high collared white shirt and one of those old ruffled cravats. He was standing in front of a fireplace with an ornately decorated mantle. And sitting in a chair next to him, with Castiel’s hand on his shoulder, was a man who looked exactly like Dean. It _was_ Dean. He was sure of it as soon as he saw the photograph. He remembered having the photo taken. He remembered bickering with Cas over the flowing cape Dean wore with his own suit. Everything about it was in his memory, down to the green cravat pin he used because Castiel said it brought out his eyes.

But that couldn’t be. It was impossible. There was no way.

“What,” Dorothy said, leaning in even closer to the screen. It was clear she couldn’t believe her eyes any more than Dean could.

“The actual fuck?” Charlie finished, zooming in on Dean’s face in the photograph.

“I have no idea,” Dean said. He stared as Charlie zoomed out to show the entire picture again. There was a ribbon across the bottom of the picture, almost like a frame, and it said in large script _Atlanta, 1854_. “Print that out.”

“Uh, yeah, okay.” Charlie sounded dazed but she did as he asked. “The printer is in the main room by the front desk.”

Dean turned and all but ran out the door, walking to the front desk and drumming his fingers impatiently on its surface as he waited for the printer to spit out the page. He wondered how this could even be possible but he wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t say it made sense but it definitely fit in with the rest of the crazy; all his dreams, the weird flashbacks, the way he felt around Castiel. As the printer finished its job and Dean reached over to collect it, the shadows in the corner of the library that held the door leading to the little computer lab seemed to darken and his heart skipped a beat. Fuck. Not again. No, that couldn’t be right. They never showed up this quickly. The shadows were moving, turning into the familiar inky black of the swirling smoke that he saw only days before around the trunk of a tree intent on killing him.

Dean couldn’t move. He was paralyzed, frozen in place like some petrified statue as the smoke grew and spread to cover the back wall and most of the ceiling. A spark caught his eye and suddenly the Enochian book on the pedestal in the back of the library burst into flames that spread far too quickly to be anything natural. It took mere moments for the bookshelves to be engulfed in the fire. Dean still couldn’t move.

The fire pressed toward him, searing his skin in a way that was far too familiar. The dry, smoky air filled his lungs and he coughed. The harsh noise of it snapped Dean back to reality. Stuffing the printed photograph into his pocket, he shouted for Charlie. He had to get back to the computer room, had to get Charlie out of there. And Dorothy.

It was impossible to see past the inferno to even know if they made it out before the flames spread. Dean was running now, passing between two of the engulfed bookcases to try and make it to his friend. “Charlie!”

A loud creak behind Dean made him turn and look back over his shoulder. One of the freestanding shelving units was tilting, tumbling over to crush him under its weight and the blaze it carried with it. He dove back toward the front of the aisle and made it just in time to avoid the falling bookcase. Watching it over his shoulder from his place on the floor, Dean saw it domino into the others and all of them crashed into the floor--the walls--sending burning books flying and sparking plumes of fire into the air around them.

The heat was immense, quickly approaching the point of unbearable. Sweat evaporated from his skin as quickly as it leaked from his body. Dean scrambled, crawling to get further away from the fire. Something touched his arm and he turned to see Dorothy standing there, trying to pull him off the ground. A halo of fire and smoke surrounded her as she helped him up.

“Where’s Charlie?” she shouted. The roar of the inferno raging through the library was deafening and even though Dorothy was screaming, Dean could barely hear her.

“I thought she was with you,” he answered, finally making it to his feet. The flames were overtaking everything, they were almost surrounded now.

“No, I have to find her!” Dorothy turned and ran back toward the fire. Dean tried to stop her, tried to grab her arm and drag her out of the room but she was too fast. She slipped away and his momentum carried him back to the floor.

Trying to rise, Dean found himself caught between two times again. The library was burning; the house he and Sam lived in was burning. Sam was screaming, calling out for Dean. He couldn’t move. Sam needed him and he was frozen in place. The blaze was too much. The heat, the light, the smoke. It was all too overwhelming.

Dean curled up into a ball on the floor of the library, tears seeping from his eyes and evaporating immediately in the heat of the blaze. His hands were over his ears, trying to block out Sam’s desperate cries, but it didn’t work. The screams only got louder, more intense until Dean thought his brain would explode.

He couldn’t save Sam.

He couldn’t save Charlie.

He couldn’t save anyone.

He broke everything he touched. Everyone he touched.

He was lost, locked inside his own broken mind and paralyzed. Naomi’s words from the attack in the hallway suddenly popped into his mind: _You leave nothing but wreckage in your wake, and you don’t give a damn who gets caught up in it._

She was right. Dean was a destroyer.

Maybe it was better this way. The bright, burning, painfully raging world around him faded into nothingness.

* * *

A strange light surrounded him, glowing softly. Dean didn’t know where he was. Had he died in the library? There was something around him, holding him. Arms, he thought as their grip tightened. He looked up and saw Castiel’s face. Behind him there were wings. Huge, glorious black wings. The feathers rippled as they beat against the air carrying him up, up and away from the inferno he could see below. Dean struggled against the man that held him tightly to his chest. He needed to get back down to the library. Charlie was still in there. Dorothy was in there, too. He needed to save them.

It was his fault.

Castiel’s arms tightened around him again, refusing to let him go. He was tired. So tired. He didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. He relaxed into the man, burying his face into Cas’s chest and breathing as deeply as he could. Castiel smelled like a summer night just before a thunderstorm. Dean tried to keep his eyes open--to focus--but his body was exhausted and his mind fought against consciousness. His lungs ached and his muscles were sore and he just wanted to sleep.

It would hurt less if he slept.

He wouldn’t have to think about Sam. Or Charlie. Or Dorothy. He could just let it all fade into darkness.

Dean let his eyes fell shut as he listened to the rhythmic beat of wings.

The black depths of unconsciousness took him again.


	8. Chapter 8

_Castiel was lifting him from the flames. He held Dean tightly, close enough to him that the air Dean breathed was heavy with the scent of him. His scent was thick in the air, thicker than the smoke, and decadent like expensive spiced chocolate. It was familiar, comforting and Dean buried his face in Castiel’s chest to breathe him in deeply. His arms wrapped around Cas’s neck and Dean settled into the warmth of his body; the strength of his arms._

_The muscles in Cas’s back and neck flexed beneath Dean’s hands, controlling the movement of his massive, powerful wings. He carried them high into the sky until clouds brushed cooly against Dean’s skin. Castiel stayed above the lowest layer of clouds like he was trying to keep them hidden. But Dean was sure they couldn’t stay out of sight, not with the way Castiel glowed like a beacon, white light washing over him and framing his face, sharpening his features in a shadowy contrast. Dean fought the urge to reach up and pull Castiel down until their lips met._

_Dean looked down and through a break in the clouds, he saw an inferno._

_Voices he didn’t recognize sounded around them but Cas seemed not to notice. They pulled at the edges of Dean’s consciousness and he tried to block them out. They weren’t real, couldn’t be real. He and Cas were in the sky, there were no other people around._

_He was just imagining things again._

_Still, the voices persisted._

“There was nothing we could have done.” Dean recognized the voice now, it was Anna. He wasn’t quite certain of where he was or what was real. He could still feel Cas’s warmth against him but hearing Anna’s disembodied voice jolted his mind.

“I refuse to accept that.” Samandriel. He sounded distressed. It was bothersome. He was a good kid. Like Sammy... “I could have warned him. I could have been there.”

The words didn’t make sense to Dean. Warned who? About what? Dean pressed his nose harder into Cas, breathing in his comforting scent.

“When has that ever helped?” Anna asked.

“It doesn’t matter, okay? He needed us and we let him down.” Who had they let down?

The voices faded.

_Dean sat on a wooden park bench next to Cas. The summer air was warm, heavy with moisture as the sun beat down on them. He rolled the sleeves of his white button-down up over his elbows to alleviate some of the heat, though it didn’t stop the sweat building on his skin. He wiped away the droplets accumulating at his hairline as he listened to the story Castiel was telling._

_“God was furious,” Castiel explained. “He cursed the angel and banished those who remained to the Earth.”_

_The story felt familiar to Dean, like something he’d heard or read before. “What happened to them?” he asked._

_“They were doomed to walk amongst mortals until the cursed angel made his choice.”_

_“Wait, I thought God was supposed to be forgiveness and love. Why would he do that? Just cast his children out of Heaven?” Dean put his arm around Cas’s shoulders, unsure why the man seemed so personally affected by the story. It didn’t matter, really, he just wanted to ease the heartbreak he saw on Cas’s face._

_No answers to Dean’s questions came. They simply sat, silently watching as people walked by on the path in front of them, listening to the cheerful chirping of birds in the trees and the busy buzz of bees harvesting from the flowers that had not yet been wilted by the heat of the summer sun._

Dean opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the heaviness of sleep. Sunlight filtered through a window and he heard the steady beep of machinery next to him. Where was he? Taking a moment to gather himself, Dean sat up groggily on the bed and rubbed his eyes. He looked around at the sterile white walls, the machines set up around him, and finally down at himself. A clean white sheet and blanket covered him, and an IV line came from one hand. He resisted the urge to try and pull it out.

The infirmary. Why was he there?

The library. The fire. It flooded back to him all at once, the photograph, the heat of the flames. His friends. Did they make it out? His heart thudded anxiously in his chest as the heavy, familiar weight of guilt settled into his stomach.

How long had he been there? His eyes darted around the room, looking for something--anything--that would indicate how much time had passed. There was nothing, save the dark particles of dirt accumulated in the exposed adhesive from the tape holding the IV needle in place.

There was a pain in his chest that was beyond the physical ache that still remained. Castiel wasn’t there when he woke. Why had Dean expected him to be there? They had one conversation, it wasn’t like they confessed their undying love for each other. It must be the dreams. He dreamt of Castiel and so expected the man to be there when he opened his eyes.

Instead, Dean was alone. Not even Gadreel, who had made his affections known was there. Dean tried to rationalize it. Everyone at Sword & Cross was on a schedule. Maybe they came to check on him while he was still asleep. Tears fell despite his attempts at logic.

Wiping at his eyes and taking shaky breaths, Dean tried to push the loneliness to the back of his mind. The most important thing right now was finding out about Charlie and Dorothy. He wasn’t sure he could live with himself if Charlie hadn’t made it out of the library.

“Hey!” he shouted, trying to get someone’s attention. “Anyone in here?” It wasn’t long before Lisa’s familiar, smiling face appeared.

“Oh, you’re awake!” she said, sounding both excited and relieved.

“Yeah. Listen, how long have I been asleep? Are my friends okay? When can I get out of here?” Dean asked the questions all at once.

“I’m gonna call the doctor, okay. She can answer any questions you have.” Lisa patted his arm gently and then disappeared on the other side of the curtain that surrounded his little section of the infirmary.

Dean waited impatiently. The doctor took forever to arrive but when she did, she swooped in gracefully, curly dark red hair flowing over the shoulders of her black scrubs. She smiled sweetly but that did nothing to dull the gaze of her sharp, intelligent eyes. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves she’d taken from the box by the door, the doctor crossed the room to get a stethoscope from the drawer of a storage unit against the wall.

“It’s so good to see you’re awake, dear,” the doctor said with a lilting accent that Dean couldn’t place. “I’m Doctor Macleod. I’m going to do a little exam and then you can ask me any questions you like.”

Dean nodded as she sat on a stool and rolled it over to his bedside. When she asked, he sat up and waited silently as she listened to his heart and checked his blood pressure, nodding to herself. Dr. Macleod put the stethoscope against his back and asking him to take a deep breath. He did so, grimacing but otherwise ignoring the pain in his chest as his lungs expanded. The whole ordeal was over in only a few minutes.

“Well, you’ll need a bit more time for your lungs to recover completely from the smoke inhalation but you should be just fine.” She hung the stethoscope around her neck and sat at the edge of Dean’s bed, facing him.

“Thanks.” He adjusted the pillows behind him slightly and leaned back against them. “How long have I been here?”

“Two days, give or take a few hours.” Dean’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting her to say but for some reason, her answer made him anxious.

“Can I leave now? I mean, since I’m awake?”

“Yes, of course. You’ll be allowed to go back to your own room in a couple of hours. We do need to observe you for a wee bit longer, make sure you’re breathing doesn’t deteriorate. Once we’re sure you’ll be alright, we’ll let you go.”

“The fire… I wasn’t alone in the library. Are my friends okay?”

“Dean, I’m so sorry. Dorothy was unable to escape the fire.”

It felt like someone dropped an anvil on his chest. He could barely breathe and everything suddenly felt so heavy. He did his best to keep his expression blank.“And Charlie?”

“She’s fine. As fine as she can be.” Dr. Macleod put her hand on Dean’s, probably trying to comfort him but guilt was crashing through him like a tidal wave. Another person was dead because of him. His relief that it wasn’t Charlie only made him feel worse. “I’ll let you rest a little more. Lisa will be here to keep an eye on you.”

Dean nodded and watched the doctor get up and leave the room. Laying back down, he stared blankly at the ceiling. Why was this happening? Was he such a horrible person that he deserved this? The people around him- Mom, Dad, Sam, and now Dorothy- sure as hell didn’t. It wasn’t fair.

He was cursed.

Everyone around him would be better off if he just died.

It wasn’t as though Dean had anything to live for anymore. Any motivation he had to survive, beyond sheer stubbornness, burned away with his brother. His mind immediately rebutted with thoughts of Castiel.

The first time Dean saw him at Sword & Cross.

The weird moment they shared after their sparring match.

The way Cas glowed with soft, radiant, white light as he carried Dean far above the fire that killed Sam.

Dean sat up suddenly in the bed, eyes wide as he stared into the empty space in front of him. That couldn’t be right. His dream was of being carried away from the fire in the library. Right? Right. Just because he couldn’t remember how he got out of the house as the flames consumed it didn’t mean that Cas saved him. That was crazy. Maybe the library incident had finally broken his mind for good.

The photograph from 1854 stuck in his head. That was, beyond the shadow of a doubt, definitely a picture of him. With Castiel. A hundred years before he was born. When he looked it, he remembered. Really remembered. Not a dream. Not a flashback. A _memory._  

What if they were all memories? It was absolutely, definitely not possible. But what if?

It seemed impossible, but what if it was all real? Maybe Dean really was crazy. He turned the idea over and over in his mind anyway. If they were real--were memories, it would explain so much. The inexplicable feelings he had for Cas, the strange urge he had to run into the man’s arms the moment they met. His thoughts stumbled onto something Castiel had said in one of his dreams.

_“God was furious,” Castiel explained. “He cursed the angel and banished those who remained to the Earth.”_

Maybe it was time to embrace insanity. If nothing else, it distracted Dean from his own guilty conscience. And somewhere deep inside his soul, Dean knew for certain that the answers he sought laid in the rest of the story Cas was telling in his dream.

He needed to hear the rest of it.

“Dean?” Charlie’s voice interrupted his thoughts and when he looked up, Dean bathed in a new wave of guilt. She was pale, her eyes rimmed with red. Probably from crying over the death of the woman she loved. And yet, she was here to see him. The man responsible for the death of her girlfriend. Dean deserved whatever harsh, hateful words she had to say.

To his surprise, Charlie ran over to the bed and threw her arms around him. Her body trembled and Dean could hear her sobs, feel the fresh tears soaking through his shirt. “Charlie, I… I’m so sorry.”

“It's all my fault, Dean.” Charlie let go of him, pulling back to sit in a chair next to his bed. She put her feet on the edge of the seat and pulled knees in against her chest, wrapping her arms around them like a lifeline.

“Charlie, it's not your fault. It's my fault. Neither of you should have ever been in that library.”

“No, Dean. We chose to be there, that’s not your fault.” Charlie wiped her face on her knees and took a few deep breaths before speaking again, voice still shaking. “She came back for me. Got me out of that computer lab. We were trying to get back through the shelves and one started to fall over. Dorothy shoved me out of the way but it pinned her. I couldn’t get her out.” Her voice cracked and she paused again. “She died saving me.”

“Charlie… I-”

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry again,” she cut him off. “I’m so tired of everyone being sorry. Sorry doesn’t fix it. It won’t bring her back. No matter how sorry you are, or I am… Dorothy is still dead! And I’m alive. And I’m so angry at her!” Charlie was glaring at him through her tears.

“I don’t really know what to say,” Dean responded after a moment. He’d sat where she was before, for most of his life, if he was honest. “There’s nothing I can say that will make you feel better. Trust me, I know.”

“I know you do.”

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. How could she know? How could she say it wasn’t his fault?

“I read your file, remember?” She let her legs go, dropping her feet to the floor and leaned forward. “It's not your fault, Dean. None of it is your fault. Unless you set the fires.”

“Of course, I didn’t set the fires.”

“Then you didn’t kill Dorothy. And you didn’t kill your brother.”

Dean’s life couldn’t possibly get any more ironic.

Charlie had just lost her girlfriend in a fire. A fire that they wouldn’t have been anywhere near if it weren’t for Dean and _she_ was comforting _him_. Not that it changed anything. As far as he was concerned, it was absolutely, unequivocally his fault.

“I wish I could believe you.” Dean looked away from Charlie’s sad, angry eyes. He couldn’t keep letting this happen. “You should go. It's too dangerous for us to be friends. Everyone I care about ends up getting hurt… or dead. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

Charlie stood up and walked over to the bed, fisted a hand in his shirt and lifted him slightly off the mattress.

“You listen to me, Dean Winchester. I am a grown-ass woman and I will _not_ be told who I can or can’t be friends with. Do you understand me?” There was a fierceness in her eyes and a firmness in her voice that brokered no argument.

“Yeah, I hear you.” Dean wished she would just listen to him and stay away. Safe. Untainted by his existence.

She let go of the shirt and he plopped back into the bed. “I do have to go take care of some things. They’re having a memorial for Dorothy tomorrow. I’ll see you there, assuming they let you out of this dump.”

Charlie didn’t say anything else, she just wiped away the wetness on her cheeks and left. Lisa came by shortly thereafter to check on Dean and bring him some water and a snack. He was surprised at how hungry he was but it had apparently been over two days since his last meal.

Dean sipped at the water Lisa brought him and for the first time in a while, he wished like hell it was whiskey. He didn’t need much. Just enough to take the edge off, dull the pain.

In addition to not being able to get a drink, it seemed Dean also couldn’t catch a break. No sooner than Lisa had sauntered off, Mr. Crowley walked in.

“Mr. Winchester,” he said, “how are you feeling?”

“Like I almost died in a fire,” Dean snarked, his mood further soured by the presence of the director. He just wanted to go to his own room, where he could wallow in peace and quiet.

“Yes, unfortunately for us, you didn’t.” He paused, regarding Dean with distaste. “I should immediately terminate your participation in the program. That was the second time you broke the rules laid out in your contract. I have, however, been informed by Doctor Tran that you appear to be making significant progress. And we know that you didn’t set the fire, so consider this a ‘get out of jail free’ card. And your final warning. Any more broken rules and I will have no choice but to make you leave. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Dean was grateful that he wasn’t being sent home yet. After everything that happened, it was clear Sword & Cross was exactly where he was meant to be. If he left now, he knew his first stop would be anywhere he could drown his sorrows. A bar. A drug dealer. It didn’t matter. Besides, Dean still had to put the rest of the Castiel puzzle together.

“Good.” Mr. Crowley turned to leave but stopped when Dean spoke again.

“Has anyone told my uncle what happened?” The director turned around and something akin to sympathy shone in his face as he nodded.

“He was here while you were still sleeping. Unfortunately, we couldn’t allow him to stay past visiting hours.”

“Can I call him? I mean, I don’t know if I have any phone time today but he’ll be worried.”

“I will make an exception because of the circumstances. Don’t expect any additional special treatment in the future.” Crowley pointed a finger at him and with that turned and left the room.

Despite having slept for literal days, Dean was exhausted. Between the social interactions, the weight of his guilt, and his brain trying to wrap itself around the newly conceived idea that perhaps his dreams were real, he could hardly keep his eyes open.

So, he didn’t.

When Dean woke again, Castiel was sitting in the chair against the wall. Blinking repeatedly, Dean tried to clear away the dream of Cas visiting him in the infirmary. But no matter how much he did, the man still sat there. Not a dream, then.

“I heard that you woke up today,” Castiel said as if it explained anything. The man somehow managed to look relieved and anxious simultaneously. “I wanted to check on you.”

Dean just nodded, still too tired to say anything about it. Looking over at the table, he saw a small vase full of pretty pink and white flowers. How long had they been there?

“I brought you flowers,” Castiel said lamely. “I thought you’d like them.”

“I do,” Dean replied honestly. They reminded him of his mother. She always kept little bouquets of fresh flowers in the house when he was a kid. “Peonies are my favorite flower. Thank you.”

“I know. You’re welcome.” Castiel smiled sadly. Before Dean had the chance to ask how he knew about the flowers, Castiel stood to leave. “I just, uh, wanted to make sure you were okay. I have to go now but I’ll see you around.”

Just like that, he was gone and Dean was left, as usual, with more questions than answers. He stared at the wall blankly until Lisa came in and started disconnecting him from the various machinery in the room. She removed the IV from his hand and smiled, telling Dean he was free to go. He thanked her and made his way out into the hallway quickly and quietly, keeping his eyes cast down to the floor. He didn’t want to meet the gaze of anyone he passed in the corridor. All he wanted was to get to his room without incident and take a long, hot shower. A little peace and quiet before he went to call Bobby.

Apparently, neither peace nor quiet were in the cards today.

As he approached the door to his room, Dean looked up and saw Professor Adler standing there, leaning against the wall next to it. The professor saw him coming and stood up straight and Dean sighed heavily. He could just walk right past him, go inside, and shut the door behind him.

“Dean,” Professor Adler said with a smile that was far too bright as far as Dean was concerned. “How are you feeling?”

“Really tired of people asking me that question, for one,” Dean grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Fair enough. I just thought you might need someone to talk to.”

“No offense, Professor, but I feel like I’ve been doing nothing but talking since I woke up. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“I understand. I’ll let you be then. I was just afraid you might be feeling some level of guilt.” The professor put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in gentle reassurance, and staring at Dean like he could see into the depths of his soul. “I wanted to make sure you knew the fire wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, so people keep telling me.” Dean scoffed and looked anywhere but Adler’s face.

“Well, it's the truth. No one blames you. For any of it.”

His tone was heavy with significance. Dean could hear that he meant so much more than just the library. Everyone seemed to know something he didn’t. Dean shook it off.

“Yeah, I’m getting that. Thanks, Professor Adler. I think I’m gonna hide out in my room for a while.” With a half-hearted smile, Dean shrugged the professor’s hand off of his shoulder and stepped through the doorway, closing the door with a resounding click.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he slumped against the door. He appreciated everyone’s concern, really, but the day felt like a revolving door of visitors. Stripping and tossing his clothes haplessly onto the floor, Dean made his way to the little bathroom and turned on the shower. He stepped in and let the hot water beat down on his skin, trying to wash away his thoughts. His body ached and it still hurt to breathe, and existing, in general, was tiring. Dean just wanted to go back to sleep, forever if possible.

Instead, he showered mechanically before turning the water off and scrubbing himself dry with a towel. Pulling on a fresh pair of sweatpants, Dean sat at the edge of his bed and picked up the plastic bag that held his clothes from the night of the fire. They still smelled of smoke when he opened it to pull out the pants he was wearing. He dug in the pockets, hoping the photograph they found would still be in them.

Dean had the feeling he was going to need it. His fingers closed around the paper in a back pocket and he pulled it out to unfold it. Examining it, the memory tugged at his consciousness and for once, Dean welcomed it.

_“Castiel, is all this really necessary?” Dean asked as he adjusted his cravat for the hundredth time. If they were going to have this photograph done, he wanted to make sure everything was perfect._

_“It is absolutely necessary, Dean.” Castiel had no more adjustments left to do, Dean saw as he turned to face his lover. The man looked as handsome as ever in the dark blue suit he wore. It hugged his muscular body in a way that was unusual for the time but Dean certainly didn’t mind. Castiel was unusual in many ways, all of them pleasing. “They’re opening the Atlanta-Fulton courthouse today, and this is the only time there will be a real photographer in town for who knows how long. We have to take advantage.”_

_“I suppose you’re right,” Dean replied with a smile. His cravat was finally in its proper place and he was looking for the cape he told Castiel he was going to wear for this. The ass must have hidden it in an effort to keep him from putting it on for the photograph. Sauntering over to Castiel’s closet, Dean searched the very back of it until he found what he was looking for. It was a waist-length black cape and he was absolutely determined to wear it for the picture if only to drive Castiel insane._

_“I cannot believe you insist on wearing that ridiculous thing,” his lover said, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist._

_“Well, believe it. It's fashionable and I like it.” Dean threw it over his shoulder and fastened it beneath the cravat, arranging it so that part of it was covering his arm. Castiel laughed pleasantly when Dean turned toward him, fanning the cape around him with a flourish. Castiel took him by the waist and pulled them together._

_“As long as it makes you happy,” he said, leaning forward and capturing Dean’s lips with his own. It was a sweet, chaste kiss but it still made Dean’s heart thud uncontrollably against his ribs. “Come now, the photographer is waiting for us.”_

_They walked hand-in-hand from their bedroom, careful to release each other before arriving in the sitting room where the photographer was set up with his camera. It was a large, boxy contraption and there was a high chair set up in front of it. Castiel led Dean over to it and he sat, facing the cameraman. Taking his place next to Dean, Castiel rested a hand on his shoulder. They didn’t smile as they sat and waited, motionless, for the proper amount of time to pass and their likeness to imprint on the copper plate in the back of the camera._

Yeah, Dean was pretty sure it was time to embrace his supposed insanity. The visions were far too real to be nothing more than his imagination. If he paid more attention to them, maybe he would find the answers he was looking for. For now, he folded the photograph back up and carefully tucked it into the frame behind Sam’s. As much as he could, he avoided looking at that picture, setting the frame carefully facing away from him before getting up to call Bobby.

 _“Singer Salvage.”_ Bobby sounded tired and anxious on the other end of the line but it was still the most comforting voice Dean heard all day.

“Hey, Uncle Bobby,” he said, the tension in his shoulders relaxing just a little.

_“Dean! You’re awake! What the hell were you thinking, boy?”_

“Yeah, no, you’re right. I shouldn’t have been in the library. I don’t know what happened.” Dean curled the phone cord around his finger as he spoke, biting his lip like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

_“I’m just glad you’re okay. Maybe we should get you out of that place. Hell, I can always lock you in the storm cellar if you start getting out of hand.”_

Dean was touched by his concern but now, more than ever, he needed to stay. He had to see this through. “No, Uncle Bobby. I’m gonna stay. I’m not gonna lie, it's been rough. But you were right to make me come here.”

_“Are you sure? You could’ve died in that fire. I just don’t like leaving you there if you ain’t safe.”_

It was just lucky Crowley didn’t tell him about the tree. There was no way he would be talked into letting Dean stay there if he knew about that. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay, I promise. Besides, Dr. Tran says I’m making progress.”

“ _Well, if you think the place is helping.”_ There was a long moment of awkward silence and then Bobby spoke again. _“I’m proud of you, Dean.”_


	9. Chapter 9

Staff and residents alike crowded into Sword & Cross’s tiny chapel for Dorothy’s memorial. It was odd being surrounded by a room full of people that probably didn’t even know her name, let alone her favorite color or food. They were drawn there by tragedy. This was just what people did when someone died. It didn’t matter who they were; people showed up to pay their respects to the dead. Like the dead were the ones that cared.

Dean stared blankly at Charlie. The only person in the room that actually gave a damn about Dorothy. Charlie was crying, silent tears smudging the black of her mascara and trailing it down her cheeks. It was Dean’s fault. Even he wasn’t there for Dorothy; he was brought to the memorial by nothing more than his own guilt.

If it wasn’t for Dean, Dorothy would still be breathing. Sam would still be alive. Hell, maybe even his parents would still be above ground.

Being surrounded by all the relative strangers in the room was uncomfortable and Dean couldn’t remain still in his seat. He shifted his position every few seconds under their watchful stares. Unable to keep his eyes on Charlie without guilt weighing even more heavily on his chest, Dean searched the crowd. Gadreel was looking at him, intense and worried, and Dean felt as though he would shrivel under the gaze. At Gad’s side, Naomi sneered across the room and seemed to make a point of sitting as close to his friend as possible. Dean made his own point of avoiding her. Every set of eyes he met held an accusation. He knew what people were thinking; it was a thought that was stuck in his mind from the moment he found out. Dorothy never would have been in that library if it wasn’t for Dean.

He hadn’t heard a word of the memorial so far. Crowley was just stepping away from the podium that was set up in the front of the room. The Director didn’t strike Dean as the kind of guy that would be full of kind words about the deceased. More likely he droned on about how Sword & Cross couldn’t be held liable for Dorothy’s death. Dean didn’t want to watch anyway. The podium reminded him of the pedestal the Enochian book sat on in the library when it burst into flames.

He saw it happening again in his mind, almost in slow motion. The smoke that always signaled disaster filling the library, the book burning, spreading the fire across the back wall. Shaking his head, Dean tried to dislodge the image, the memory. A short moment passed and then Professor Adler was standing behind it.

“We come together today to mourn the loss of a dear friend, a kind and generous--” Zachariah began “--whose life was far too brief--” Why was the professor doing this? Didn’t they have a priest or a pastor or something for this? Or a rabbi? Or didn’t anyone besides him and Charlie know that Dorothy was Jewish? “--to mourn the loss--” The man’s voice held no emotion at all and it was difficult to concentrate on his words. “--whose tragic passing comes as a shock to us all--” The one’s Dean did hear were utterly meaningless.

“We will always remember a kind and generous friend, someone whose company was always a pleasure, and although today we are understandably overcome with grief, I ask that you have faith that in time our pain will ultimately prove strengthening and ultimately be a testament to how much Dorothy mattered and always will.” Zachariah paused for breath and for a moment, Dean could swear the man looked right at him. “Not only was she a loving daughter, but she was also a kind and generous friend. We must transform our sadness into something strengthening. That’s how we celebrate her life and ensure her legacy.”

That was all the professor had to say. Dorothy was kind and generous. Nothing about her love of conspiracy theories. No friendly jokes about her customer service voice. Nothing about her relationship with Charlie. Nothing about Dorothy at all. Just a generic phrase that was only ever used to describe people after their death. What a crock of shit.

Dean felt like he was suffocating; there was too much pressure against his lungs and his chest ached. The sham of a memorial, the guilt, the anger--they weighed on him like a pile of cinder blocks. Lucky enough to be sitting at the end of a row, Dean rose unsteadily to his feet and headed toward the door leading out of the chapel, putting every ounce of energy he had into walking and somehow managing not to run away.

Dean looked up when he bumped into something solid, barely registering that it was Castiel’s face he was seeing. “Sorry,” he mumbled and kept moving.

* * *

It was clear to anyone with a working pair of eyes that Dean was not dealing with Dorothy’s death well. Gadreel saw the tears starting to fall, the deeply ingrained self-blame etched into Dean’s face. Watching him go, Gad wanted to do something but it wasn’t that simple. This was much more than a breakup or a lover’s quarrel, and he had no idea how to make that better. Gadreel waited only a moment before getting up to follow his friend. He’d nearly caught up when Castiel’s hand wrapped around his arm, fingers pressing into his skin almost hard enough to leave a bruise.

“You show up at her memorial after you get her killed?” The dark-haired man said in a vicious whisper. “I know whatever is going on has something to do with you.”

“What are you talking about?” Gadreel asked, wrenching his arm from Castiel’s grasp.

“Seriously? The tree in the garden? The fire in the library? They didn’t just happen naturally.” Castiel’s eyes burned with a rage that had been simmering below the surface for as long as Gadreel could remember.

“How many times have we been through this, Castiel? I would never hurt him.” Gadreel raised his hands in a rare gesture of passivity when the man grabbed him by his shirt.

“We wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you--”

“No. This is happening because of you, Cassie. Everything was fine before you came along.” Blue eyes narrowed but refused to break contact. “Why don’t you just tell him everything? He deserves better than this. Dean deserves the truth.”

Castiel sneered. “Right, because you care so much about Dean.”

Sighing, Gadreel said, “Think what you want, little brother. I have been caught in this for at least as long as you.”

“If you hurt him…”

“What?” Gadreel asked, shoving Castiel back toward the wall with a snarl. “You’ll do what? How many more times do you have to watch him die?”

Not wanting to continue the argument anymore, or show how upset he truly was, Gadreel turned on his heel and ran down the corridor, leaving the still enraged Castiel staring after him. He was right about one thing. Someone was actively trying to kill Dean. But whatever was happening--whoever was doing this--it had nothing to do with Gadreel.

* * *

The quiet of his room did nothing to calm the storm of emotions that roiled inside of Dean. Sam’s eyes from the framed photo on the desk burned with accusation as Dean sat on the side of his bed, trying to stop the tears from rolling down his face. He couldn’t breathe--couldn’t think beyond the pain in his chest. It felt like his heart would explode at any moment. All Dean could do was sit there with his arms wrapped tightly around himself and wait for it to pass. It would end, he knew. This wasn’t the first panic attack he’d ever had, though it had been a while.

So he waited, rocking back and forth and squeezing his middle as tightly as he could with his arms. Dean didn’t know why but it helped. The pressure on the outside of his body somehow got him through. It seemed like he sat there forever, but when the tightness in his chest finally started to unravel, Dean glanced at the clock and saw that only about twenty minutes had passed. The tears still came, but they slowed significantly. The attack was a short one. There was a noise behind him in the doorway.

“Dean.” Gadreel was standing at the door to his room, and Dean tried to wipe away the tears inconspicuously.

"Hey, Gad," he said without turning to face him.

"Can I come in?" Gadreel didn't wait for an answer, and Dean was pretty sure he didn’t care that he was breaking the rules. He didn't touch Dean or get too close. Instead, he stood on the opposite side of the bed and stared.  

"You're gonna get us both in trouble," Dean said softly, trying not to let his voice crack.

"I don't care. I just wanted to tell you..." Gadreel trailed off like he wasn’t sure what to say next. "Look, I know it probably doesn't matter what I say. You're just going to keep blaming yourself anyway. I just wanted to tell you it wasn't your fault."

Dean didn't say anything; he just tried to stifle the sob that was a threatening lump in his throat.

"It's not your fault she died. And it's not your fault you didn't." Gadreel stood there, waiting for some response probably, but Dean didn’t have one. He just wanted to be left alone. "I just wanted you to know... if you're ever ready to talk about it, I'm here."

“Gad, you shouldn’t be here.” Dean was being saved by Samandriel’s soft voice, something he never thought would happen. Something he never thought he would be grateful for. “Let’s go before someone finds out and Dean gets in trouble.”

“Yeah,” Gadreel replied. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Dean sat silently on his bed, waiting until the sounds of shuffling footfalls faded and he knew he was alone again. Exhausted from the memorial and his ensuing panic attack, he trudged into the bathroom and used cold water to rinse the tear tracks from his cheeks before shutting the door to his room and flopping face first onto the bed. He needed a nap.

Sleep wouldn’t come for him, so Dean rolled out of bed and wandered aimlessly down the corridor, feet heavy and shoulders slumped. He just couldn’t lay there and stare at the ceiling anymore, spiraling further into his own despair. Everyone he passed seemed to avoid looking his way but, to be fair, it might have been Dean avoiding eye contact. A dull gray seeped into everything around him and he wondered if he was imagining it. If he paid more attention, maybe he wouldn’t have run headlong into Castiel, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

“Dean?” Cas asked softly. Even at his most distraught, Dean found his deep, calm voice soothing. He looked up and met Cas’s bright blue eyes, untouched by the drab tones that settled over everything else. Cas’s brow was creased and his lips were tight with worry, and Dean was sure the man was going to ask if he was okay. He’d lose it if one more person asked that God damned question. But then one corner of Castiel’s mouth pulled up into a smirk. “You look like shit.”

“Fuck you,” Dean replied halfheartedly. Not that he would ever say it out loud, but he was relieved, even happy, that someone was finally talking to him like a person, not some fragile piece of China to be handled with kid gloves.

“You haven’t even bought me dinner yet.” Castiel feigned offense but the way his eyes twinkled let Dean know for sure that it was all in jest. Somehow, even in the emotional wreck of a state he was in, Dean still picked up on the implication of the joke. “Why don’t you come out to the garden with me? You look like you could use some fresh air.”

Dean nodded and followed a few steps behind Castiel, who walked quickly enough to stay ahead but not so quickly as to pressure Dean into keeping up. Not that he would have tried at that moment anyway. Despite the respite of Cas’s quiet company, Dean’s body felt sluggish, weighted with guilt he couldn’t shake. His heavy feet took forever to carry him to the doors that led out to the yard.

The sun was hidden behind the thick, dark cover of clouds signaling an oncoming storm, and a cool breeze blew across Dean’s skin. He breathed the humid, rain-scented air in deeply, trying to use it to cleanse himself of recent events. What he really wanted wasn’t company; it was a fucking drink. Preferably a strong whiskey. If Dean closed his eyes and imagined it, he could almost smell the alcohol, feel the way it burned as he swallowed.

Trying to push the thoughts away, Dean trailed after Castiel as he led them to the bench closest to the fountain. Sitting down on the cold stone, Dean stared at the water as it fell from Gabriel’s horn in a steady stream to splash noisily into the full basin below. Castiel was sitting far too close. If Dean wasn’t careful about the way he moved, their knees or elbows might brush together. So, he stayed as still as he possibly could. A few days ago, it would have made him extremely uncomfortable, having to concentrate on not touching Cas, but now it was a nice change of pace and far more pleasant than thinking about Dorothy. Cas didn’t speak or push Dean to talk; they just sat like that for a long while.

Between the soothing sound of the water flowing in the fountain, and the heat radiating off of Castiel’s body next to him, Dean finally started to relax. Perhaps he really had needed the fresh air. Nothing had changed, of course. Dean still felt the guilt and the despair he’d been wallowing in, but it was somehow lighter. He sat up a little straighter and held his head up higher. The painful pressure in his chest, while still present, had faded into the background some and it felt easier to breathe. He could do this. He could carry on to the next day, and then the next. ‘Take it one day at a time’ like Kevin told him.

Dean looked over at Cas, who was drawing again, scratching at a sketch pad with a charcoal pencil, brow furrowed slightly as he peered earnestly down at the paper. Dean followed his gaze. The page showed a cafe on the corner of two streets. There were tables outside on a patio and rough sketches of two people sitting at one of them. There were no real details in the drawing, but Dean recognized the place. He knew that it was him and Cas sitting at that table. He remembered it.

“You seem like you’re feeling better,” Castiel remarked, looking up at Dean with a small, warm smile and something that resembled longing in his eyes.

The blush burned into Dean’s skin at having been caught staring, even if it had only been at the drawing. “I feel a little less like dying, if that’s what you mean.” He forced a smile, trying his best to seem like he only had a passing interest in the drawing Cas was working on. “What are you drawing?”

Castiel’s face went immediately blank, and then he chuckled low. Dean wanted to hear the laugh more. Possibly for the rest of eternity. “I guess you could say it’s like a graphic novel.”

“Oh, what’s it about?” Dean asked, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hands as he stared at the fountain again, waiting for Cas to answer.

“It’s sort of a romance.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see that Castiel’s face had fallen but he chose not to say anything about that.

“Does it have a happy ending?”

“I’m not sure,” Castiel said, sighing and fidgeting on the bench. The question seemed to have made him uncomfortable, so Dean didn’t press any further. At least not yet.

“Where is that?” Dean glanced over and pointed to the cafe drawing on the exposed page of the sketchbook. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Cas’s answer.

“It’s supposed to be Paris,” Castiel replied, looking over at Dean with an almost embarrassed smile on his face. “In, uh, Seventeen Twenty-Three.”

“It’s a cafe, right?” There’s a bakery right next door.” Dean smirked at Cas’s dumbfounded expression. “The whole street smells like… cinnamon rolls. The owner of the cafe likes to sneak treats to the baker’s dog.”

“You couldn’t possibly know that.” Castiel’s voice was almost a whisper, like he wasn’t talking to Dean at all. His brow creased in confusion as he turned away from Dean again.

“I’ve never traveled. Hell, I’ve never left the state of Georgia, Cas. But I know this place. I remember it. Like I’ve been there.”

“That’s impossible, Dean. Look,” Cas paused and held the page up so Dean could see the full drawing. “This is just an illustration for a story. It’s not real.”

“Right, right. I’m crazy, probably.” He felt crazy, but he also _didn’t_ feel crazy. Dean was confident in his memory of that place, surer of himself than he had been in a very long time.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Cas sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. “Look, I don’t think you’re crazy. But you’ve been through a lot since you got here. Maybe, I don’t know, you should look for somewhere else to go for treatment.”

“I can't afford the luxury of seriously considering someplace else. Sword & Cross is"—Dean paused, rubbing his hand down his face, trying to loosen up the tightness of his mouth—"pretty much a last-ditch effort for me."

"Come on," Cas said, turning toward him and reaching out with one hand.

Dean knocked it away, not wanting Castiel to touch him or try to comfort him. "You wouldn't know—"

"I would." Cas sighed. "There's always another stop, Dean.”

It was maddening trying to deal with Castiel, who never really lost his cool, collected persona. One moment he was ridiculously concerned about Dean’s well-being and the next he was closed up like an air-tight bowl hidden in the back of his refrigerator. Dean couldn’t even be sure if Cas was trying to convince him to leave Sword & Cross for his own good or because he just didn’t want Dean around. He squinted and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath of the humid air to try and clear his thoughts, or at least calm his frustration.

“I really wish it was that simple,” Dean said finally. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it somewhat.

“It’s not just the drawing, Cas.” Dean hesitated for a moment, searching the deep blue of his companion’s eyes for… something, he wasn’t really sure what. Some reason not to tell him, maybe. “Paris isn’t the only memory I have.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, head tilted to one side like some inappropriately adorable confused puppy. It was stupidly endearing and that in and of itself frustrated the hell out of Dean. But added to the fact that Cas was hiding something from him, it irritated him.

“All my life, I’ve had these… visions. Like flashbacks, but to things I know I’ve never done, things that I couldn’t have done.” Dean rose from his spot next to Cas on the bench and started pacing, unable to sit still while he told his story for what felt like the first time ever. Talking to Castiel about his flashbacks wasn’t like telling some doctor about them for a psych evaluation. That was detached, emotionless, perfunctory at best. This felt important, and waves of emotion and uncertainty crashed over Dean.

“Most of the time, they’re about me. Hell, a few of them have been actual memories. Like, I’ve had flashbacks to my mom singing me ‘Hey, Jude’ while she tried to rock me to sleep. Only, it’s more than just a memory. It's like I am reliving it. When it happens, I can feel her arms around me, smell her perfume, feel her breath against my skin.”

“Okay, so it’s a vivid memory, Dean,” Castiel said, still rooted to the stone bench like he was afraid to stand. “That doesn’t mean its some crazy vision.”

“I’m not crazy,” Dean said vehemently, stopping in his tracks and sneering as he locked hard eyes with Cas’s. “I shouldn’t be able to remember it, Cas. I was an infant. Maybe a few months old. I remember being in an old, abandoned church. I remember you being there, Cas. I remember Gadreel being there. I remember the rafters caving in. I don’t know how but I know it’s real.”

Cas scoffed. “What you’re saying is impossible.” He looked at Dean, and his eyes held almost hidden fear. Almost, but not quite. Dean could see it and it spurred him on, making him want to tell Cas more.

“I remember sitting in a diner in what I am pretty sure was the early 70s and having a conversation with you. I picked you up at your house. We drove to the diner. I ordered a bacon cheeseburger and you had pancakes.” Dean had worked himself into something of a frenzy at that point and he stopped his pacing to look Castiel in the eyes.

“I’m not done yet,” Dean said when Cas opened his mouth to speak, no doubt to protest again that what Dean was saying made no sense. Hands lifted in acquiescence, Castiel silently nodded for Dean to continue. “I remember the fire my parents died in. All the stuff you’d expect like getting Sammy out and the fire trucks and the heat. But before the fire started, there was the buildup of smoke, at least that’s what I call it.”

“What do you mean smoke?” Castiel asked, eyes narrowed as he leaned forward.

“I don’t know man, its like this thick black smoke. But it’s almost like it’s alive. It’s unnatural. That was the first time I ever saw it. But then I saw it again when Sammy died. When I wrecked my car the first time. The tree in the courtyard. And again in the library. It's like they herald every disaster that happens in my life.”

“That’s never happened before. You shouldn’t be able to see them,” Castiel mumbled, no longer looking at Dean. His eyes were unfocused, like he was somewhere far away.

Dean was startled by the words and almost certain Cas didn’t mean for him to hear them. He stared at his companion and for a long moment, the only sounds were the babbling of the water fountain and the rustling of the leaves in the steady breeze. Sitting next to Castiel, Dean grabbed his shoulder lightly and turned him so that were facing each other. There faces were so close together, it would be nothing to close the distance and feel Cas’s lips against his, soft and familiar. It seemed for a moment that Cas thought the same thing because he stared at Dean’s mouth and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“What do you mean that’s never happened before?” Dean asked instead of kissing Cas. For once his brain was working faster than the rest of his body. He needed answers before he would pursue anything more than a conversation.

“Nothing,” Cas replied, blinking, “it doesn’t mean anything.” He looked around, letting his eyes rest on anything but Dean’s. “I, uh, I have to go.” Without another word, Cas turned and marched back toward the building. He was running away. Again.

Dean watched him go; the conversation only served to cement the fact the Cas not only felt the same way Dean did, but knew exactly what was going on and was choosing to hide it. Or maybe Dean just wanted that to be the case. Maybe he really was crazy. As Castiel threw the door open, Dean could swear he saw the outline of wings, just like he had the day Cas saved him from that tree.

No, Dean was sure this was real. He was not crazy.


	10. Chapter 10

“Dean!” Charlie called out to him as he walked back in through the cafeteria. He didn’t want to face her; didn’t want to feel the guilt that would come with seeing her, but he turned toward her voice anyway. “Come to the kitchen with me. I think I found something.” She didn’t wait for a response, she just turned and left.

He stared after her for a moment, debating. His desire for answers won and Dean followed, wading through the smatterings of quiet conversation and the sea of somber, apologetic faces. He pretended not to see them, keeping his eyes cast down at the floor in front of him. As he passed through the swinging door to the kitchen, Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and sagged against the wall. He rested there for a moment before forcing himself to go to the back where he knew he would find Charlie.

She was sitting at the usual table—where they’d shared meals and a card game or three—staring at the screen of an open laptop. Glancing up at Dean, Charlie waved him over and he moved to stand behind her so that he could see the screen of the laptop as well.

“So, it’s not much but I changed the search parameters a bit since we didn’t have time the night…” Charlie’s voice trailed off and she looked far away for a moment before shaking her head and turning back to the screen. “Anyway… I couldn’t find anything else for our Castiel Novak, but when I searched for C Novak, I found this.” She gestured toward the screen.

A book was displayed, _A Treatise on Angels: Before and After the Fall of Lucifer,_ Grigori Publishing, London, 1755. Written and illustrated by C. Novak. It wasn’t the sort of thing Dean would normally read, but something about it niggled at the back of his mind; something about the title was familiar. Dean couldn’t figure out what it was. _Grigori._ Where did he know that from?

“Was this written by an ancestor?” Dean asked, squinting at the screen. “Maybe Castiel is a family name. Or maybe the person who wrote this wasn’t named Castiel at all.”

“I thought that might be the case, too,” Charlie responded, clicking away from the image of the book’s cover. “Someone converted the original book to digital copy. Check this out.” She clicked something and turned to face him, gesturing toward the display.

The laptop showed a blown-up image of an old-time portrait of a man from the chest up. The high collar of his shirt reached nearly all the way to his earlobes and from the front of it, artfully frilled lace emerged between the lapels of a blue brocade jacket, partially covering large golden buttons of the waistcoat. He looked different, certainly, with long powdered hair clubbed at the nape of his neck, but even in the small, hand-painted portrait, Dean recognized those eyes. Thoughtful, intense, and deeply blue. There was no doubt in his mind that this painting was of  _his_ Castiel, not some ancestor with a similar name.

At that moment, something clicked in his mind. The lesson about angels in Zachariah’s Philosophy of Religion class. The angels that fell to the Earth, influencing humanity toward good or evil. Angels that were doomed to roam the Earth forever until they made a choice and could return to their rightful places. They were the Grigori, the Watchers. How did he know that? It wasn’t something they covered in the class and he certainly hadn’t learned it in the Sunday school classes that he never attended. It didn’t really matter. Dean knew it was connected.

Could Castiel be one of them? No, it was just a story. Right? Angels were not real. It was another impossible thing to add to the list of insane truths that comprised Dean’s life.

“Charlie, thanks for showing me this. But you should really stop trying to dig up information for me. I don’t want you to end up getting hurt because of me.”

“Shut up, Dean. This is what friends are for.” Charlie’s voice broke. She didn’t look at him when she spoke, but her voice and words were firm.

“Right,” Dean said with a nod. He hesitated a moment, still staring at the portrait lingering on the screen of the laptop. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll see you later.” Without waiting for a response, he turned around and left. Thoughts of Cas and fallen angels were swimming through his mind and the more he thought about it, the less crazy it sounded because it explained so many things. He moved quickly through the hallway but managed not to run. Dean really needed a minute, needed to get his shit together before he lost his mind.

He practically burst through the door to his room and came to a sudden halt, surprised to see Gadreel sitting on his bed.

“Gad, what are you doing here?” Dean asked, frozen in the doorway. Gadreel turned to face him, fidgeting on the edge of the bed and rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Happy birthday, Dean,” he said. It startled Dean even more. He never told Gadreel when his birthday was. He never told anyone here. In fact, up until that very moment, Dean had forgotten that it was today. The anger suddenly washing over set his face in hard, unforgiving lines. Why the fuck did everyone know more about him than they should?

“How do you know today is my birthday?” Dean asked, irritation seeping into his voice. Gadreel might be his friend but he was tired of everyone hiding things from him. He was done giving people the benefit of the doubt.

“That’s not really important, Dean,” Gadreel said, standing with a small, confident smile on his face as he approached Dean. “What is important is that I know exactly what you want for your birthday.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Dean was tense, his whole body practically vibrating.

“Answers.” Gadreel raised his hands in a placative gesture and stopped in front of Dean. “You want the truth. About you. About Castiel. About us. About everything.”

“What do you know about it?” If Castiel was an earthbound angel, as Dean was beginning to believe, was Gadreel one, too? Could they have stopped the fire in the library? Saved Dorothy? Why didn’t they?

“Meet me in my room at 11:30 and I will tell you everything I know.”

Gadreel didn’t leave Dean with a chance to respond or ask questions, he just pushed past Dean and left through the open door. Dean stood there, shocked and having a hard time processing everything. The day was too much already. It was a sentiment he experienced way too often, lately. Quickly followed by his current general state of wondering what the fuck was going on and reminding himself of all the reasons why he wasn’t going to drink about it.

He flopped face first onto his bed, though he wasn’t interested in sleeping. Dean just wanted to hide from everything at that moment, let everything fade into the background. He just laid there silently for a long time, waiting, breathing, and trying to still his mind. He counted his breaths, using some technique he learned from Kevin; it took a while but eventually, it worked. When he could think clearly again, Dean realized that Gadreel was right. Regardless of anything else that might be happening, the one thing Dean wanted the most was answers. Especially about Castiel. He wondered if he would be able to get away with sneaking out of his room after lights out a second time, especially given the consequences of the first trip.

Dean already knew he was going to try. He spent the rest of the day pretending other people didn’t exist. The only time he left his room was to eat, and he did that in the kitchen with Charlie, and only because she insisted on it. He still couldn’t look her in the eye. On one hand, it was nice to have some quiet moments after the insanity that his life had become over the last several days. On the other, it left Dean with entirely too much time to think. Only a few weeks had passed since he first walked through the doors of Sword & Cross, but it already felt like a lifetime. How was that even possible?

When Dean no longer possessed the mental capacity to deal with his own introspection, he decided he should at least try and take a nap before meeting Gadreel. It was already going to be late when they saw each other, and if Gad really meant to tell Dean everything it would be a long night. Dean had questions. A lot of them. And he expected that Gadreel would answer them.

Laying on his side and facing Sam’s picture on the desk, Dean’s heart hurt for yet another reason. He missed his family, especially his brother. Sam was the smart one, the one Dean would turn to for help in situations like this. Hell, they spent most of their lives attached at the hip. They were always there for each other. Now, Dean really needed Sammy. But he was alone. It was probably better that way. As much as he wanted help, he didn’t want to burden anyone. He only hoped that whatever answers he got from Gadreel would be enough to put the puzzle together and reveal the bigger picture.

Closing his eyes, Dean turned away from Sam’s frozen gaze and breathed deeply. He tried to force his body into sleep, willing the blackness of unconsciousness to blot everything else out for a while. Hopefully, he wouldn’t dream.

_The bonfire blazed brightly, bathing everyone and everything in the square with a cheerful, flickering glow. The townspeople drank, danced, and sang merrily in celebration of the recent, bountiful harvest. The flames made Dean anxious--they always did, though he couldn’t for his life fathom why--and he watched them carefully. On the other side, Castiel sat on one of the long benches some of the farmhands had brought into town on their carts. As ever, Dean longed to be close to him, but he was certain that such feelings should be kept to himself. The punishment for such a sin would be severe for them both. But he could look and no one could take that from him._

_Sitting on the bench, far too close to Castiel for Dean’s liking, was the son of a local merchant. Dean stood and wandered around the fire now as he observed the man with whom he was so enamored conversing with the boy called Samandriel. The way the firelight’s flickering shadows played across Castiel’s face was entrancing and Dean soon found that he was standing at the very edge of the fire. So close, in fact, that if he took another step he’d be swallowed by it. Frightened, he jumped back with a gasp._

_“Unpleasant memories?” Dean could hear the sneer in Naomi’s voice as she spoke. She’d been tormenting him for months now, and Dean had no idea why. Backing up, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was moving away from Naomi as well as the fire. “So, do you still think about him?”_

_“Who?” Dean asked. He turned to face her now that they were a safe distance away from the heat of the flames, taking steps to put space between himself and his tormentor._

_Naomi, for her part, continued to advance ruthlessly upon him. “The boy you killed in that fire.” She reached over, snagging a stray burning limb and swinging it at Dean._

_“That was an accident.” Dean swallowed harshly and shook his head, eyes wide and glued to the weaponized torch. He should take it from her, but his body only seemed interested in being as far away from the flame as it could get. “I didn’t kill anyone.”_

_Naomi laughed at his protest, cold and wicked enough that Dean nearly made the sign of the cross against his chest to protect himself. It would have been utterly useless, of course, as it wouldn’t stop her from touching the torch to the smattering of dry autumn leaves that littered the dirt road between. The chute of fire spread from the tip of the burning branch and chased after Dean. “For someone who doesn’t like fire, it’s clearly fond of you.”_

_“Enough, Naomi,” Gadreel said, stepping between the woman and Dean. Where he’d appeared from was a mystery. Dean wasn’t able to look away from the fire that Gadreel was now stamping out but he was grateful the man stepped in. “Are you alright, Dean?”_

_“I’m well enough,” Dean replied immediately, though even without being able to see it, he knew his face was probably a ghostly white. He didn’t--couldn’t--move away._

_“What are you doing?” Gadreel asked, voice tight and angry as he turned to Naomi._

_“Entertaining myself at the expense of your demented little paramour,” she replied in a sing-song voice. It was clear she was trying to get under Gadreel’s skin._

_“You put us all in danger with your foolishness.”_

_Naomi sighed. As she looked up into Gadreel’s eyes, something about her face changed--softened. “Perhaps, if you would turn your gaze on someone other than Dean for once.” She paused. “But no, you’re far too intent on him.” With that, she turned on her heel and stalked away, leaving Gadreel and Dean to stare after her._

Dean breathed in a shocked gulp of air as he woke, then rolled his eyes at himself. Maybe someday the dreams would be less surprising. The vision only served to confirm that whatever the fuck weirdness was going on here went beyond himself, Castiel, and Gadreel. If they were all angels, clearly Naomi was one of the ones that chose to sow the seeds of chaos in Lucifer’s name. He still didn’t understand how he fit into the narrative. Rubbing his face with one hand, Dean sat up and looked over at the clock on his bedside table. It was nearly time for him to meet with Gad.

Pointedly ignoring the photograph of Sam, who would absolutely be trying to talk him out of this if he were present, Dean got out of bed and walked over to his door. Opening it slowly to make sure the movement would go unnoticed, he peeked out and looked left and right down the hall. What the hell was with security in this place? After everything that had happened, Dean thought there would be hall monitors or something to make sure no one left their rooms after curfew. Instead, the corridor was as empty as the last time he snuck out. Unimpressed, he slipped out and shut the door softly behind him. The stairs were at the far end of the hall and he took them two at a time up to Gadreel’s floor.

The quiet was eerie and unsettling, but not unexpected at this time of night. Dean didn’t bother knocking when he reached the door to room number twenty-eight. It swung open silently, revealing a room very similar to his own. There was an odd sensation about it; something in the way the air hung in the room, almost like it was charged with an energy that wasn’t present anywhere else in the building. Maybe it was just Dean’s imagination. Gadreel sat on the corner of his bed, facing the window.

“I’m here, Gad,” Dean said softly as the door snicked shut behind him.

Gadreel turned to face him with a tight smile. “You should come sit down. How was your birthday?” He was clearly trying to make friendly conversation but Dean had neither the time nor the patience to make the effort to reciprocate.

“Shitty. Look, I appreciate that you want to chat,” Dean said, taking a few steps into the room but remaining on his feet. “But you said if I met you here tonight, you would tell me what the hell is going on.”

“I know.” Gadreel looked down at the floor and nodded. “I know. I’m working up to it. It’s a lot and honestly, I’m not sure if I should be telling you at all. I could be putting you in more danger than you’re already in.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t care. Nothing could possibly be more dangerous than me being completely in the dark. At least if I have some idea of what’s happening, I have a chance to defend myself.”

“That’s not how this works, Dean. There is no defending yourself, not really.” Gadreel stood and took a step toward him, his face unreadable.” You have to make a choice. And for you to do that, I think you should know that I am not--”

“Gadreel!” The familiar deep gravel of Cas’s voice came through the now open doorway, cutting off whatever confession Gad was about to make. His face was impassive but his yelling clearly indicated that he was angry.  Gadreel’s hands were raised and posture defensive as Cas quickly and aggressively closed the distance between them, until he had placed himself firmly between Dean and Gad. “I told you to stay the hell away from him!”

His hand was on Gad’s throat, squeezing and lifting him up until his feet were no longer touching the floor. Dean could swear he saw a brilliant flash of blue light in Cas’s eyes as he picked the large man up one-handed like he was a damn paper clip. It only served to further cement Dean’s theory about the fallen angels.

"Castiel!" Dean yelled, somehow managing to keep his voice from shaking. He wouldn’t lie and try to pretend he wasn’t terrified by the display of strength.

Cas cocked his head to one side like he heard Dean calling him, but he didn’t let go of Gadreel. If anything, he tightened the grip of his fingers around the other man’s neck. “I don’t trust you, Gadreel. I still think you’re the one trying to harm Dean.”

Dean approached cautiously, laying a hand on Cas’s shoulder, trying to pull his attention away from his victim. “Cas, let him go,” Dean said more softly.

This time Cas turned to look at him and he seemed to get caught up in Dean’s eyes. The feeling was mutual. It was almost enough to make Dean forget that Cas was still holding Gadreel up in the air by his throat. “Put him down.”

Blinking, Cas complied, lowering Gad until his feet were on the floor and release his grip. The man stumbled backward, taking in frantic gulps of air as he rubbed at his neck where Cas had been squeezing. He didn’t say anything, not to either of them. He just sat down in his desk chair as he caught his breath.

“Cas, what the hell was that?” Dean asked, exasperated and afraid and more than a little angry.

“You need to stay away from him, Dean. Gadreel is dangerous.” Castiel seemed unnaturally calm, given that he had just tried to strangle someone, and Dean had had enough.

“No, goddammit!” he yelled. “What’s dangerous is you! There is something going on here and you’re at the center of all of it! You’re the only fucking reason we were in the library that night, Castiel!”

“What?” Castiel asked dumbly, brows drawn together in his confusion.

“I was trying to figure out who you are; why I feel like I am connected to you.” Dean had given up all semblance of civility at this point, anger spiking hot inside him as he glared menacingly at Castiel. “Because you…”Dean shoved Cas backward roughly with a hand on his chest. “Won’t tell me anything!”

“Dean, please calm down.” Cas raised his hands in front of him in a placative gesture. “I’m trying to protect you. Please, just listen to me. Stay away from Gadreel.”

“Then, tell me what the hell is going on!”

Castiel stood there, staring soulfully at Dean, looking like he was almost on the verge of tears. He opened his mouth once, twice, like he was finally going to give Dean the answers he so craved. But he didn’t. Cas clamped his mouth into a hard, thin line and shook his head.

“I can’t, Dean. I’m sorry.” He turned and left as quickly as he appeared.

Dean growled in frustration, sneering as he slammed a fist into the wall next to him. He caught a stud and the pain reverberated through his bones but he ignored it. Dean turned and left the room, following Castiel. The door to the staircase at the end of the hall was swinging and Dean moved quickly through it and up the stairs until he reached the door to the roof. The night air was cool against his skin, and it had rained sometime while Dean slept. Everything smelled damp, clean, and earthy, and a deep breath of it somehow helped him focus, clear his mind just enough to think mildly rational thoughts. He saw Castiel walking across the rooftop and he jogged to catch up.

“Fine!” Dean called out, making Cas stop in his tracks. “Don’t tell me. I already have a theory anyway. So just listen.”

Castiel seemed to hesitate, but he turned to face Dean, eyes bright and intense and captivating. “Very well, Dean. You have my attention.”

“See, I told you I have these visions, right?” Dean started, standing stock still, afraid that if he moved, Castiel would run off again. “Visions of my past, everything that happened with my brother. I have visions of us, too. I told you about the dream I had about us in the diner. I didn’t tell you that in that dream you told me you loved me. I didn’t tell you about any of the other visions where you and I were together.”

“Dean, I told you those are just dreams. Wishful thinking,” Castiel began, but Dean raised one hand to silence his protests.

Dean dug into his pocket for the folded up paper he’d been carrying around since he was released from the medical ward. “I didn’t tell you about this, either,” he said, unfolding the paper and holding it up to show Cas the picture he and Charlie and Dorothy had found. “I remember this, Cas. I remember when this was taken.”

“That’s not possible, Dean. That’s not possible.” Cas just whispered it, eyes wide in disbelief and surprise. “You can’t possibly remember these things.”

“It was the day of the ribbon cutting ceremony for the Atlanta Courthouse. You couldn’t believe I wanted to wear, and I quote ‘that ridiculous cape’ and we even argued about it for a few minutes before you finally gave in.”

Dean felt bolder now that he was getting all this off of his chest and he took a few steps toward a shocked and unmoving Castiel. “I remember you carrying me away from the fire in the library, Cas. Being wrapped in your arms and looking down at the burning building.”

“You were obviously delirious after the fire. You can’t trust anything you think you saw that night.”

Dean ignored his protest and pressed on. “Then I remembered the lesson from that first religion class I went to. The one about the fallen angels.”

“What are you saying, Dean?” Castiel seems more frightened than anything else. He doesn’t look at Dean like he’s crazy, just like he’s terrified that Dean knows more than he should. Which made sense if he was close, if he had figured out Cas’s secret.

“What do you think I’m saying?” Dean asked. He looked over his shoulder, suddenly struck with an idea, a way to test his theory. “There’s one way to find out if my theory is correct because I don’t think you’ll let me die, Castiel. I think you’ll always save me.” He backed up, moving closer to the edge of the roof.

“What are you doing?” Castiel started walking toward him, slowly, but Dean was already there, his heels hanging just over the edge of the roof. He shot a wide, cocky smile at Castiel, spread his arms wide and closed his eyes before leaning back to let himself fall.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean barely tipped over the edge when Cas’s hand suddenly fisted in his shirt and yanked him roughly back up onto the flat of the roof. He was a little disappointed, honestly. At least he was right that Castiel wouldn’t let him die but this didn’t prove much of anything. Dean had expected to free fall for a few feet or something before Castiel sprouted wings and swooped in to save him. That’s how this kind of thing always happened in the movies. Still, Cas’s speed was inhuman to catch him like that, and the way he hauled Dean back up with one hand? Dean wasn’t a small guy by any means, and even Sammy’s gigantic ass had never been able to lift him one-handed like that.

“Dean, what in all creation is wrong with you?” Castiel asked, anger and fear rolling off him in waves. “You could have died!”

“But I didn’t,” Dean snarked back, “because you saved me.”

Castiel looked torn, though Dean didn’t know why. His eyes darted all over Dean’s face, resting for a long moment on his mouth before he finally seemed to steel himself and said, “Since you are so hell-bent on killing yourself, fine. We’ll talk about this. But for fuck’s sake, don’t try to jump off the roof again.”

“Agreed.” Dean straightened his shirt when Castiel finally loosened his grip and followed him back toward the door that led into the building. They sat down next to each other, but not close enough to touch, with their backs against the wall. “So talk.”

“Do you remember I told you that I had a heartbreak?”

“Well, to be honest, I remember damn near everything you’ve ever said to me.” Dean looked over at Cas and smirked, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. It was extremely difficult as they were so close. “Probably because it hasn’t been much.”

“The truth is I’ve been dealing with this heartbreak for a very, very long time.” Cas paused and glanced over at Dean. “This is going to sound insane.”

“Have you heard me talk recently?” Dean asked. “Because insane just seems to be the order of the week.”

“Fair enough. Very well. What if I told you that I have been in love with the same person for centuries, millennia even? And that every time we meet and fall in love, he dies. It’s a curse, Dean. A vicious cycle none of us can break free from.”

“Well, there has to be something you guys can do right?” Dean didn’t want to admit that his heart was pounding in his chest or that the words seemed to ring with truth. At any other time of his life? Dean would definitely have thought Cas was completely off his rocker.

“We’ve tried everything. Avoiding him, seeking him out, telling him everything, and telling him nothing. It doesn’t matter. The only way to break the cycle is for him to choose.”

“How, uh… how does it happen?” Dean asked softly; he was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“It’s different every time. Sometimes it happens quickly, other times it takes years. But in the end, he never gets the chance...” Cas’s voice trailed off.

Dean suddenly recalled the dream in the abandoned church, when Cas and Gad had been telling him that he would die if he didn’t make a choice, and nodded. “How did it start? Who put this curse on you?”

Castiel chuckled sourly. “God himself. This man was caught between two sides, two people, that he loved. Neither of those people was the Lord. And when the Morning Star fell, and God demanded that sides be taken, this man refused. God cursed him and the people he loved. Took away his ability to choose as punishment for his refusal.”

“So, what about you?” Dean asked suddenly. “You said that the man you love dies every time the two of you meet and fall in love. But what happens to you?”

“Nothing. I don’t age or die. Everything changes around me, but I remain the same. And I wait. He is reborn every twenty-four years, and I am left to wait for him and watch him die again and again for the rest of eternity.”

It was an unbelievable story and even with everything that was happening, Dean was struggling to wrap his mind around it. He knew who the third man was. “What about Ga--the other person? What happens with them?”

Cas looked over at him, smiling sadly. “We are forever locked in a competition for his affections. Like me, the other man doesn’t age or die. We simply wait.”

He already knew what the answer would be, but Dean had to hear it from Cas. “Who is this man? The one caught in the middle?”

“It’s you, Dean.” Castiel looked away for a moment, pausing like he was trying to collect himself before he could continue. “It’s always been you.”

Dean met his gaze, trying to understand the overwhelming emotion that flooded him. He was suddenly cold and afraid, and he couldn’t sit there anymore with this man who claimed they’d been in love for so long. “I… I have to go.” With no further explanation, Dean stood and threw open the door, not looking back as he ran through it and down the stairs back to his room. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Cas, not really. Dean just needed time to process everything. Because it was insane.

He was almost certain Cas was being honest with him, though since Dean showed up at Sword & Cross, Cas had been a complete asshole. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that the whole story was made up to push Dean’s buttons. But it fit. The whole story fit.

But why would God punish them for being in love? Why wouldn’t Dean have chosen a side in the first place? There was something missing. Maybe it had something to do with whatever Gadreel was going to tell him before Cas showed up.

Dean paced the floor at the foot of his bed, back and forth, again and again, hoping that the movement would help him process everything. Cas was immortal, and Dean was reincarnated every twenty-four years.

What the actual fuck?

Finally tired of his pacing, he walked over to the desk and pulled the chair back to sit down, only to find it was occupied by a book. _A Treatise on Angels: Before and After the Fall of Lucifer._ Stuck to the cover was bright pink post-it that said _Bought at B &N, hope this helps _in Charlie’s neat handwriting.

Picking it up, Dean sat in the chair and stared at the cover. Some part of him was afraid to open it, to look at the pages within. He wasn’t sure what he feared more, being crazy or being cursed. Truth be told, it didn’t matter which he preferred. It only mattered which one Dean  _was._ Rather than allow his fear to continue dictating his actions, he took a deep breath and opened the cover.

The first page revealed the same picture Charlie showed him earlier that day. His fingers ran over it and Dean marveled a bit at the talent the painter displayed in capturing the blue of Castiel’s eyes so perfectly. It was lunacy, staring at this reproduction of an old ass painting of a man that Dean sat on the roof with earlier that night. But there was no doubt that it was more than a simple family resemblance. The Castiel in the painting possessed the same crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the same five o’clock shadow, and the same worry lines across his forehead as the Castiel that told him the story of the curse.

Eventually, Dean started flipping through, past the title page and well into the first chapter. He didn’t take the time to really comprehend the words as he read them; he just kept skimming, much more interested in the various illustrations. One, in particular, caught his attention. It was of an angel seated upon a large boulder. Huge wings stretched out behind him, gleaming in the painted sunlight. The individual feathers, variant shades of brown speckled with iridescent green, were so clear and detailed that Dean was almost certain if he reached into the picture, he could feel their softness against his fingertips. The angel was bare-chested, the white robe wrapped around his middle hardly covering him at all. The face had a familiar strong jawline and straight nose, but it was the eyes Dean couldn’t look away from. Wide, happy, bright green eyes. Eyes Dean saw every time he looked in a mirror, ever since he was a child. Though, lately, they weren’t happy at all.

Blinking several times, Dean shut the book but kept his finger on the page so he wouldn’t lose it. This couldn’t be real. That couldn’t be Dean. He was just a normal guy. Sure, he had visions and dreams about possible previous lives, but otherwise, he was a totally normal, completely human man. There sure as hell was nothing angelic about him.

He shook his head and opened the book again, flipping through quickly and without bothering with pages that didn’t have illustrations. There were several faces he recognized: Anna, Balthazar, Samandriel. Was everyone in this place an angel?

Just like that, Dean accepted the fantastic tale Castiel told him as truth. It was no longer a struggle between what he felt and what logic dictated. Now, it was simply a matter of what to do about it. How did he break the curse? Dean huffed in frustration and slammed the book shut again. Something was missing, some vital piece of information that he needed to find out. It poked at the back of his mind but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Looking through the illustrations again, Dean saw the faces of everyone at Sword & Cross that he thought might have some connection to this; even Naomi with her usual scowling face was depicted. Everyone except Gadreel. Where was his painting?

Whatever else was happening, Dean knew without a doubt that the curse revolved around himself, Castiel, and Gadreel. So, why was he the only one that wasn’t in the damn book? He was sure if he could snag that one little detail, the whole mystery would crack open like an egg, so he took a deep breath and returned to the picture of the angel that looked entirely too much like Dean and started reading.

_It may or may not surprise you to know that Lucifer’s fall did not occur exactly as the Church often teaches it. We’ve all been taught that the fall was brought on by Lucifer’s betrayal of God--his refusal to love humanity more than he loved the Father--and while that is what happened, the Church glances over many of the surrounding details. It has been forgotten than other, perhaps lesser, angels were involved and deeply affected by Lucifer’s choices, and by God’s._

_One such angel was called Adenael. He was an angel of the Seraph order, a Warrior of the Lord, and long before the war began, he and Lucifer were in love. In fact, it was them that invented love as we know it today. They were the very first beings in history to experience romantic love, or love for anyone or anything other than Him that created them. Adenael was Lucifer’s Evening Star and though many things changed in Heaven and on Earth, he never completely stopped loving the Light Bringer._

_But Lucifer began to change, growing possessive, angry, and prideful under the influence of the Darkness contained within him. Eventually, Adenael could no longer stand with his own light drowned in the shadow that the Morning Star became. In fear of what Lucifer might do if he discovered the waning of Adenael’s love, the Evening Star confided in another angel. With this angel, Adenael found his own light once more and eventually, they grew to love each other._

_This love was different from the love he shared with Lucifer but undoubtedly more powerful in that Adenael and Castiel were equals, neither shining more brightly than the other, and neither turning toward Darkness the way Lucifer had. When the Light Bringer turned away from God, Adenael refused to go with him. When the Creator offered him a place in the Army of Heaven, he refused to take it._

_Castiel and a handful of other angels stood with Adenael as he rejected the idea of participating in a war that held no purpose for him. He had no desire to fight Lucifer, whom he still had love for, and no desire to fight against God. This was not enough for the Lord. He took action against all those who stood with Adenael, most particularly on Adenael himself and his lovers._

Dean looked up at the window above his desk, the darkness outside obscuring everything but his face reflecting back at him. For a moment, it was Adaneal he saw there. He blinked and saw himself again, as he was now. There was far more scruff on his cheeks and jaw than he was strictly comfortable with, and his eyes were ringed red and puffy, probably from the combination of exhaustion and emotion that had become his normal state of being.

Closing the book for the final time, Dean set it down on the desk and picked up the picture of Sam. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, Sammy. I don’t know what to do next.” His brother, of course, only smiled motionlessly back at him from behind the glass. He wasn’t sure why he expected anything else, though if photographs magically started moving at that moment, Dean wouldn’t be too awfully surprised. He turned and looked at the clock, realizing more time had passed than he thought as he set the frame back in its rightful place. It was 3:21 in the morning and even though he slept before going up to Gadreel’s room, Dean was tired. Maybe if he laid down again and got a couple of hours, his brain would be functional enough to piece the puzzle together when he woke up. Charlie would definitely have some input if he shared the picture with her.

He dragged himself out of the desk chair and trudged into the bathroom, mechanically brushing his teeth before crossing the room again to lay back against his pillows and turn out the lamp. The darkness did nothing to help Dean sleep. He tossed and turned, working over all the new information and trying not to think. Everything was supposed to go back to normal that day but Dean didn’t see much chance of that actually happening.

* * *

Dean woke with the undeniable compulsion to find Castiel. He needed to talk to him about the book and what he read in it, but there was more than that. There was an underlying urgency that Dean didn’t really understand. Despite the acute feeling that he was running out of time, his mind was clear and he was calm in a way he didn’t think he’d ever experienced before. His body moved almost of its own accord. He went to the bathroom, changed his clothes, and left the room, forgetting to grab the book and take it with him. It didn’t matter; Dean didn’t need it.

Of course, the one time that he was trying to find Cas, he didn’t run into him in the hallway or the rec room. Apparently, that only happened when Dean was actively avoiding the man. There was no sign of him in the cafeteria, but Balthazar sat at a corner table with Samandriel. So, Dean walked over to them and asked, “Hey, you guys seen Cas?”

“No,” Balthazar replied. “I haven’t seen him since last night. Why?”

“I just need to talk to him, that’s all.”

“I don’t think he’s come down for breakfast yet,” Samandriel offered with his usual friendly smile. “You could check his room. It’s number forty-two upstairs.”

Dean nodded and said his thanks, taking off in the direction of the nearest staircase, only stopping when he heard Charlie call out behind him. Turning toward her, he smiled. “Hey, Charlie.”

“Did you get the book?” she asked.

“Yeah, I got it. It was very enlightening.” Dean paused, looking down at his friend and then reached out and pulled her into a tight hug. He didn’t know where it came from but there was an unquestionable sense of finality when he said, “Thanks, Charlie. For everything.”

“You’re welcome.” Her head quirked to one side as he released her. Maybe she picked up on what felt like a goodbye in his words.

Somehow, Dean knew that no matter how this turned out, this would be the last time he saw Charlie. They parted ways, and he took the stairs two at a time up to Castiel’s floor. Room forty-two was close to the stairs, so he went there and knocking on the closed door very quickly. When there was no immediate answer, Dean reached for the knob, drawing a shaky breath as he turned it to open the door.

It swung open easily, revealing the empty room and Castiel’s neatly made bed. Something told Dean it wasn’t slept in the night before. It made him anxious; why, he didn’t know.

He left Cas’s door open behind him as he headed back toward the stairs. If he had never returned to his bed, perhaps Castiel was still on the roof. Dean practically burst through the door at the top of the steps but there was no sign of him there either. He returned to the ground floor and startled when Professor Adler appeared from seemingly nowhere, blocking his way down the corridor.

“Hello, Dean,” he greeted, and Dean couldn’t tell if the older man was standing in his path intentionally or if this was just a coincidence.

Perfunctorily, he replied, “Professor.” When he tried to move past him, Zachariah stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Are you alright? You seem… frazzled.” The professor, for his part, did look sincerely concerned. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I just need to find Cas,” Dean said, shaking his head. “So, unless you’ve seen him?”

The professor raised an eyebrow. “You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?”

Dean cursed under his breath. He wasn’t really surprised. Apparently, everyone here  _was_ an angel. Except maybe Charlie. “You’re one of them. Look, I really need to find Cas. We have things to discuss.”

“Yes, of course.” Professor Adler nodded absently. “Listen, before you go. Tread very carefully, Dean. Things are… different this time. I’ve been trying to figure out what it is, but I can’t seem to put it together. It could be more dangerous than ever.”

“Uh… okay?” Dean didn’t really know what to do with that information. As far as he was concerned, this conversation was useless and taking entirely too long. “That all?”

Zachariah nodded, stepping out of the way. “Try the garden.”

Jogging down the hall, Dean turned and left the building through the front entrance and circled back toward the fountain. The yard was surprisingly deserted, especially since the Georgia heat had finally broken for the season, leaving the air just cool enough to be comfortable. The dappled sunlight lent an ethereal quality to the trees and the gaps between them so they almost looked like they existed in some world parallel to Dean’s. Castiel, of course, was nowhere to be seen in the most frequented areas around the fountain.

Keeping his eyes peeled, Dean moved further into the trees. He ignored the twisting in his gut as his body tried to remind him of the events of the last time he was here. As if he forgot that he was nearly crushed to death by a tree. It really was the kind of thing that stuck with a guy. Still, it was the only place left that Cas could be, so Dean ventured further into the glade. The fallen oak remained in the same spot on the floor of the small forest and his heart pounded harder in his chest as he approached it. The dead, dry leaves crunched under Dean’s feet as he stepped around it. There was a sudden gust of wind and a sound like flapping wings, then Dean caught a streak of blonde from the corner of his eye. He swiveled to look, suddenly reminded of Professor Adler’s warning, but there was nothing there. Turning back to his path, the trees around him took on a different appearance as the vision struck

_It was pitch dark and cold as Dean ran through the woods, wind biting at his face and branches cutting into his skin as he fled. He wasn’t even sure where he was going, but the animalistic bays and growls coming from behind him were enough to spur him forward. The forest seemed endless and the sentient black smoke danced through the trees, blotting out the sky, and seeming to pull whatever thin air was left around Dean away so his breath came in shallow, aching gasps. The viciously snarling creatures were gaining ground and fear rushed through his veins, but Dean couldn’t seem to make his tired, burning legs move any faster. Part of him knew he was only delaying the inevitable by running. But Dean pressed on, his harsh breathing, his feet slamming into the leaf-blanketed forest floor, and the terrifying guttural noises of the hounds chasing him the only sounds in the sleepy forest._

_The trees around him never seemed to get any thinner no matter how long he ran, and Dean was sure he’d been running for a very long time. His lungs were on fire, and the smoky figures that filled the canopy of branches seemed to laugh at his struggles until his exhausted, beaten-down legs finally buckled beneath him and he sprawled across the thick leaves. He should have tried to get up, but Dean had no energy left. All he could do was lay there as the growls got closer until he could finally feel the hot breath of a hound against his cheek and he knew all was lost._

Very suddenly, the present rushed back into focus, hastened by the sharp pain in his cheek when his face impacted the ground. The vision was intense and Dean’s toe caught on an errant root that tripped him. Slowly, he rose to his feet. It hurt like hell.

On the plus side, his face was intact.

And, Dean finally located Castiel.


	12. Chapter 12

Cas sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed with his hands on his knees and his back straight against the thick, tall tree trunk  Most remarkably, he was glowing. Not in the way the sun’s rays reflected off him from behind to create a glowing effect. Actual glowing. The bright white light began in the center of his chest, radiating outward in a circle and filtering through his skin. Around the outermost edges of the suffuse light hung the familiar figures of swirling, writhing clouds of black smoke. Each seemed to move independently of the others as if they were all their own entities, and none seemed to be able to penetrate the holy white light emanating from Castiel’s body.

Dean stared, frozen in place by the sight before him. Cas was always gorgeous; Dean remembered thinking that from the moment he laid eyes on the man leaning up against the garden wall. But the Castiel he saw now was on an entirely different plane of beauty. For the first time, Dean truly saw Castiel’s wings, huge and stretched out behind him. They were still except for the nacreous black feathers fluttering in the light breeze. They gleamed in Cas’s glow and Dean resisted the urge to reach out and run his fingers along them. They looked so soft and he knew the strength of those wings from experience.

“Cas,” Dean said.

Cas opened his eyes for the first time since Dean arrived, a calm, peaceful smile on his lips despite the fact that he was surrounded by the beings that terrorized Dean for as long as he could remember. “Hello, Dean.”

“Everything I read in your book is true, isn’t it?”

Cas’s smile went a little crooked and his head tilted to one side. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific. I have many books.”

“You really are an angel. So are the others.” Dean hesitated a moment before revealing the next bit of information he uncovered. “I--I used to be an angel, too, right?”

Cas rose to his feet with the same inhuman speed as the night before when he kept Dean from falling off the roof. It made sense now that Dean knew for sure he wasn’t human. “Yes, all of that is true. But that’s not everything.”

“No, I know.” Dean shook his head. “I’m missing something. When I told you about my visions and about the weird smoke, you said ‘that’s never happened before;’ I’ve never remembered anything before, right?” Cas nodded, moving close enough that Dean could reach out and take him by the arm if he wanted to. Dean didn’t; he kept talking instead. “And Professor Adler told me something was different this time. Maybe it’s all connected?”

“I don’t know anything about that but, Dean, if you’ve figured all this out, then we won’t have much time--”

“To break the curse. I know. But how am I supposed to choose when I don’t have all the information, Cas?” Dean paced, the urgency forming a pit in his stomach that he couldn’t get rid of. “What about the smoke? When I found you, it surrounded you.”

“It isn’t smoke. They’re the discorporated forms of the angels that were cast into Hell. They can’t hurt you; they’re only here to watch. You shouldn’t be able to see them at all.”

“But I can. I’ve been able to see them my whole life. They’re always there when something horrible happens. Are they doing it? Did they set fire to the library? Or to my house? What about the tree that you saved me from?” Dean fired off questions at breakneck speed, trying to fit the last bits of the puzzle together.

“No, these beings are without hosts. Without a physical body to possess, they are harmless.” Castiel shook his head as he spoke.

Dean did not find that information reassuring at all. “So, it is my fault.”

“What? No, Dean, it isn’t your fault. You didn’t do any of those things.” Cas took a step forward, stopping Dean in his tracks as he reached up and touched his face.

Dean leaned into Cas’s comforting touch. Even if Cas didn’t think the blood of the people that was on Dean’s hands, it didn’t matter. As far as Dean was concerned, it was his fault. He killed them, even if it was unintentional. Sighing, he shook off Cas and returned his thought to the matter at hand.

“What do I do now?” Dean asked quietly. “I am supposed to just make this choice and the curse will be broken?”

“That is how it should work.” Cas didn’t sound hopeful at all, but Dean supposed that wasn’t unexpected. If he were forced to watch the man he loved die repeatedly over the course of centuries, Dean wouldn’t be very optimistic either. “I love you, Dean, but I have told you everything I am willing to. I won’t influence you to choose me. It has to be your own free will.”

They stood so close together and Dean found himself caught in Cas’s inescapable, intense blue eyes. This was it; everything in his life led him to this moment. He searched Cas’s face, heart pounding, as Dean raised a hand and drew him closer. He felt the breeze of Cas’s breath on his skin.

“Dean, wait!” Gadreel called, somewhere behind him.

Dean blinked, the moment broken by the invading voice, and turned around as Cas reluctantly withdrew. “What the hell, Gad?”

“Your life is in danger,” Gadreel said as he approached. He wasn’t alone; the other angels trailed behind him.

“Please, tell me more things I already know,” Dean replied, sardonically.

“It’s Naomi. She’s the one that’s been trying to kill you.” Gadreel walked up and took both his hands, staring meaningfully into his eyes.

“Where is she now?” Castiel asked, his ruffling wings mirroring the distress in his voice. He looked angry, his face taking on the same fierce lines as when he attacked Gadreel.

“We don’t know,” Anna admitted, frantically.

Samandriel shook his head. “We need to protect Dean.”

“Why? If she kills me before I can break the curse, the whole cycle just starts again, doesn’t it?” Dean looked from Cas to Gad and back, confused.

“Maybe, but something has changed,” Professor Adler offered.

“Zachariah is right.” Balthazar took a step forward. “Something about Dean is different and we don’t know what. The cycle could be broken and not in the way we are hoping for.”

“Then we have to do something. If I am to watch Dean die again, I would rather do it with the knowledge that he will be coming back,” Cas said.

“Just stop! Everyone just stop,” Dean shouted. It was frustrating as hell, listening to the angels talk about him as if he weren’t standing right there in front of them. Did Naomi trying to kill him really make that much of a difference? His life was  _always_ in danger. The only way to change that was to make his choice. “If I break the curse, then none of this matters, right?”

“Breaking the curse will not make you invulnerable,” Zachariah said. “Naomi will still be able to kill you. We need to protect you until we can deal with her.”

Dean sighed in frustration. The angels were adamant but he just wanted the whole thing to be over. Taking this time to deal with Naomi would only give him less time to discover the last piece of the puzzle and make his choice. “What do we do, then?” he asked finally.

“We need to find Naomi.” Anna turned toward Cas.

“I can protect Dean while you find her.” Zachariah stepped toward Dean. “I’ll take him inside; there are unused parts of the building we can hide in for now.”

Cas and Gadreel seemed to have a silent conversation and then Cas looked over at Dean. “Go with Zachariah. I’ll come get you as soon as we deal with the threat.”

Dean looked around at the other angels, all nodding their agreement and reluctantly agreed to go with Zachariah. He followed the older angel away from the group and back into the building. Neither broke the tense silence as they walked, Dean trailing a few steps behind. Zachariah navigated the halls, leading Dean up the stairs and down an unfamiliar corridor.

“We should be safe in here.” Zachariah opened a door and waited for Dean to cross the threshold. The room they ended up in looked like a disused classroom. Stacks of hard plastic chairs lined the back wall, and desks were piled up haphazardly in a corner. The room had no windows and only the door they entered through. Unease settled over Dean; he felt trapped in the small area, and the sound of the lock clicking into place did nothing to relieve his tension.

“How will Cas know where to find us?” Dean asked, licking his lips as his eyes darted around the room. He crossed the room and leaned against the old teacher’s desk, turning to face Professor Adler.

“We can sense each other’s presences.” Zachariah double checked that the door was locked as he spoke. “Which is part of why everyone is so concerned about not being able to locate Naomi.”

“What do you mean?” Dean wanted to keep the man talking because maybe the conversation would distract him from the feeling in his gut that told him something was very wrong.

“We should be able to sense where she is, but we can’t. She is hiding herself from us intentionally.”

Dean just nodded. It made sense that Naomi wouldn’t want the other angels to find her, especially if they were all trying to protect him. “What I don’t really get is why? Why does she want me dead? And if she’s been trying to kill me, why didn’t she just do it? She’s had ample opportunity.”

“I wish I knew, Dean. My best guess is that if she succeeded, she didn’t want the rest of us to know it was her. She and Gadr--” There was a sudden sound of a wing beat and then an earsplitting, high-pitched ringing in the air cut Zachariah off. Dean shielded his vision as white light, brighter than anything he’d ever seen, spilled from the professor’s mouth and eyes, burning them away and leaving nothing but charred flesh around the empty holes.

“I thought he would  _never_ shut up,” Naomi said, sneering. The blood-covered, silvery tip of an oddly shaped blade poked out of Zachariah’s chest. Dean knew he should recognize it, but he couldn’t remember what it was. It disappeared as Naomi pulled it out and Zachariah’s empty vessel fell to the floor. “If you’re going to hide from an angel, it’s probably a good idea to put up some warding.”

Shit. Dean was trapped in a small windowless room with an angel that wanted to kill him. What the hell was he going to do now? Keep her talking and hope Cas got there before she killed him. “Why are you doing this? What the hell did I do to you?”

“You really have lost your touch, Adenael.” Naomi sauntered toward him slowly as she spun the strange dagger in her hand. “You stole him from me.”

“Stole who from you?”

“Lucifer, of course.” The tiny room didn’t give Dean much time before Naomi filled his personal space. She leaned in, pressing the tip of her blade to his sternum just enough that he held his breath in the hopes it would keep his skin intact. “All this time, he’s been so focused on you that he can’t see what’s right in front of him. If I get rid of you, he’ll come back to me.”

This bitch was fifty shades of insane. “Lucifer isn’t even here, Naomi. And if you kill me, I’m just going to come back in twenty-four years.”

Her face contorted into a twisted expression of mirth as giddy, maniacal laughter bubbled out of her. “I don’t remember you being this stupid in Heaven. Do you really think I would go to all this trouble if you were going to come back?” Naomi shook her head, her eyes wide and more than a little psychotic. “I’ve been watching you for millennia, waiting for a chance. Imagine my surprise when your parents never had you baptized.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Dean really hoped Cas or Gad or anyone at this point would show up soon because the blade cut into his flesh, a rivulet of blood dripping and staining his white shirt.

“Your soul has nowhere to go when you die, Dean. You won’t reincarnate; you won’t go to Heaven or Hell. You’ll just cease to exist.” She smiled cruelly. “You were still so young when I found out; I tried to kill you then, but you escaped the fire.”

It took a moment for Dean’s brain to process what she said. “You killed my parents, you bitch!” Angry and surprised, he wanted to punch Naomi right in her smug face, but he remained still. He wasn’t ready to die.

“Unavoidable casualties. Like that brother of yours.” Naomi tilted her head and tapped a contemplative finger against her chin. “What was his name, again?”

“His name was Sam,” Dean choked out through the tears that clogged his throat. He swiped at his wet cheeks. All this time, he believed he had somehow killed his brother, even when people told him it wasn’t his fault. Naomi’s admission was like confirmation and absolution all rolled into one.

“Sam! Right!” she agreed. “And now, all I have to do is end you and it’s all over. I can take Lucifer and we can go back to where we belong.”

Dean smirked, hiding his terror under a thick layer of snark. “Man, I thought I was crazy. But you? You’re a fucking lunatic.” He shook his head, taking a serious risk by pushing her buttons. “And you say I’m stupid? You couldn’t even effectively kill a toddler. You think Lucifer’s gonna want anything to do with you?”

The smile dropped from her lips and she drove the tip of her blade further into his chest. As she opened her mouth to speak, the door burst open and Cas rushed in, Gadreel right behind him.

“Oh, thank God,” Dean breathed as Naomi turned toward the entrance.

Cas attacked her immediately, driving her back into the wall so hard that it cracked under the impact. Naomi lost her grip on her weapon, and as it clattered to the floor, Cas picked it up. Dean didn’t see Cas plant the knife in her because Gadreel dragged him forcefully out of the room and toward the stairwell. He did see the unmistakable flash of impossibly bright white light.

“Gad, stop.” Dean fought against being pulled up the stairs. “What about Cas? We can’t just leave him back there.”

Gadreel ignored his words, opening the door to the roof and bringing them both out into the fresh air. “Castiel will be fine. We need to talk. I was trying to tell you last night. You need to know that I am not what I appear to be.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Can people stop being so cryptic about everything?” Dean asked, sighing in frustration. “I almost just died like five seconds ago, and God might actually strike me down at any moment. So, just come out with it already.”

“Okay, then,” Gadreel replied calmly. A shimmering ripple formed in the space between Dean and Gadreel, like the fabric of reality being shaken to free the dust from it. Gadreel’s face shifted under it: green eyes turning blue and moving incrementally closer together; jaw softening and full lips thinning; body become smaller, less muscular, and softer around the middle. His hair became shorter, blonder than it was the moment before.

As he examined the familiar face, everything clicked into place for Dean. “You’re Lucifer.” He remembered everything now, at least he thought so. His past lives, his time in Heaven, and Lucifer before the fall.

“Yes, Dean,” the angel replied with a small, crooked smile. “It’s me. I have been here on Earth with you and Castiel for centuries, doing everything I could to make you love me again. I literally became a new man for you. I love you, Dean. Stay with me. Choose me, and we will do amazing things together.”

A long time ago, Dean gave everything he was to this angel. They rested their wings together under the golden glow of the sun in the tops of the trees in Eden, even before God created humanity. Their footprints marked the trail of their evening walks in the wet sand of the very first beach. In the painting from Castiel’s book, Adenael laughed at a joke Lucifer told. Dean remembered how it felt to be happy with Lucifer; he still sensed their connection. The door behind him hit the wall as it slammed open, and Dean turned to see Castiel standing there.

“You have to choose, Dean,” Lucifer pressed. He took a step toward Dean. “I’ve done everything for you. I was your first love. I changed myself for you. I have spent centuries watching you die over and over again because you never got the chance to make your choice. Just come with me, Dean. I can make you happy; you know I can.”

Dean looked at Lucifer. The angel’s eyes were pleading and Dean knew he would try, but Lucifer hadn’t changed. He would never love anything or anyone as much as he loved himself. It was what had driven them apart in the first place. He shifted his gaze back to Castiel, who stood silently in the doorway, body tight and poised defensively. “Do you have anything to say, Cas?”

Cas regarded him thoughtfully with his puppylike head tilt and then he closed the distance between them and took Dean’s hands in his own. “No, Dean. I told you, I will not try to influence you. The choice is yours and yours alone. And I will love you no matter which of us you decide on.”

The ground rumbled beneath them, shaking the building and knocking Dean off his feet. His time was up but it didn’t matter. His decision was made. Lucifer would always put himself first, Dean knew that. Even after centuries of living through this curse, Lucifer was the same as always. He claimed he became a different man for Dean but that wasn’t true. He became a different man for himself. Cas was his polar opposite, stepping back to let Dean make the choice on his own. The day Adenael defied Heaven and the newly created Hell, it was Castiel that stood at his side and held his hand as he refused to fight. He would never try to overshadow Dean; they would grow, become better, together. And Cas would always love him, no matter what happened.

“Dean, don’t,” Lucifer begged, as if he could read Dean’s thoughts. Or maybe the way Dean looked at Cas just made it that obvious. “Choose me, Dean. Don’t choose him.”

Dean turned, searching the angel’s ice blue eyes for something, anything to give him a reason to believe. But he only found the same selfish pride as always. It saddened him because as long as Lucifer’s hubris remained, he would be alone. “I’m sorry, Luci,” he said softly, pushing himself up off the surface of the roof. “But I know what I want.” Beyond any shadow of a doubt, Dean knew that he and Castiel were meant to be together. Dean cupped Cas’s face with one hand, feeling the rough stubble against his palm as he drew Cas closer. Their lips met softly at first, and Dean heard Lucifer’s rageful cry behind him, but it was so far away that it didn’t matter. His senses were full of his angel and as the kiss deepened, the Earth stopped roiling beneath them.

Dean clutched at Cas even as he felt himself lifted into the air. His vision was overtaken by bright, holy light until it was all he could see. Power welled within him, filling the emptiness he lived with for so long and spilling over until his eyes glowed brilliantly blue with it. A moment of agony ripped through Dean’s body but faded as quickly as it began, and then his vision cleared and his feet descended to meet the roof in front of Castiel.

“Dean.” Castiel stared, eyes wide in awe. “Your wings.”

God returned them to him the moment the curse broke, and Dean spread them out, relishing the way the muscles stretched behind him. They were just as he remembered them, varying shades of brown and tan, spotted with glistening green feathers throughout. Dean turned to look for Lucifer, but the archangel was gone. “What now, Cas?” he asked, taking the hand of the man he loved.

“We could return to Heaven,” Castiel answered hesitantly. “The others have. Or we could go somewhere else. We have the rest of eternity and an entire universe to explore, Adenael. We can go anywhere you like.”

“Let’s stick with Dean. Just because the curse is broken and I’m back to being an angel doesn’t mean I stopped being that guy.” Dean smiled softly. “I’m still him. I’m still all of them--the past me’s.”

Cas nodded thoughtfully. “So, where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere. As long as I’m with you.” Dean would call Bobby later, let him know that everything was okay. It would be a while before they saw each other again but he wouldn’t leave his uncle hanging like that. Besides, the old man deserved to know the money he spent on Sword & Cross didn’t go to waste. Everything was different now. The void Dean tried to fill with liquor and drugs was gone now that he was whole again. He still missed Sam, of course, but it was easier now that he knew he could see him in Heaven any time he wanted to.

“Let’s go somewhere with a view,” Cas suggested with a smile. “I think we deserve a vacation.”

“Lead the way.” Dean took his hand and together they leaped from the roof, wings beating against the air and lifting them high into the sky.


End file.
